


Three Boss Witches

by amythis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Who's the Boss?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-11-19 13:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11314728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amythis/pseuds/amythis
Summary: Mona Rockwell, Mina Romano, and Minerva McGonagall are three witches who grow up in different countries but whose lives nonetheless intersect.





	1. 1942

Mona Rockwell stayed up till almost midnight on the Fourth of July, long after the fireworks had faded from the huge sky over her little East Texas town. She refused to believe she wouldn't get her Ilvermorny letter, and this was her eleventh birthday, her last chance. OK, her teenage brother Archie never got his, but he was practically a Squib. And Mona was a firecracker, with red hair and a temper to match, and there was no doubt that she was magical, even if she couldn't fly broomless like her kid brother Cornelius.

"Ah, I thought I'd find you up here," said a buxom redhead as she joined Mona on the rooftop.

"Mama, it's not that late. And it's summer. And—"

"And it's your birthday."

Mona hadn't yet outgrown blushing. "Well, yeah."

"Sugar, I know you had your heart set on going to Ilvermorny, but there is a war on and maybe they've stopped recruitin'."

"America wasn't in the War yet when Archie turned eleven."

"Well, your big brother is practically a Muggle."

"Mama!" Mona exclaimed, although she couldn't help giggling after a moment.

"You know it's true. And you know I love that boy dearly, but magical, he ain't."

"Well, no. But I am."

Mrs. Rockwell stroked the hair so like her own, although in pigtails rather than a Veronica Lake style that hid one of her blue eyes, also like her older daughter's. "Darlin', I know it's disappointin', but I didn't get to go either and Granny taught me everything I know and me and her will do the same for you."

"Not if you go to Europe."

Mama frowned. "So you were eavesdroppin' again."

"I'm sorry, but how am I gonna learn anything if I don't find things out for myself?"

Now her mother chuckled. "You do need schoolin', I know. But I'm kinda glad you're not goin' off to Massachusetts. I'd miss you."

Mona pulled away. "Well, I'll miss you if you go."

"Monie Honey, that's not certain. It's only if your daddy needs my help. And for all we know, he could come flyin' back here tomorrow."

Mona shook her head. "It feels like Daddy ain't never comin' back."

"I know, Darlin', I know." Her mother sighed. Mona was just starting to piece together how adult relationships worked, having recently had her first kiss, from Jimmy Wilson in his father's parked Studebaker. She knew her parents loved each other and her mother missed Daddy in a different way than Mona did. It wasn't exactly like in the movies, but it was quietly romantic. But he was serving in the War, well, both wars, since Mona knew he was not only in the U.S. Air Force but he was also doing what he could to resist Grindelwald. Mama and Granny didn't talk about it much in front of the kids, but Mona did indeed eavesdrop.

"He won't be here when Babs starts kindergarten, will he?"

"Probably not." Mona's little sister Barbara, whom she'd nicknamed as she had all her siblings (Archie was "Starchy" and nine-year-old Cornelius was "Corny" or "Cornball") had turned five since Daddy left. She would be in the first kindergarten class in town. Mona was proud of Babs but sad to think that Daddy was missing seeing her, well, all of them, grow up.

"What about when Archie starts high school next year?"

"The War can't drag on forever, Sugar."

Mona had her doubts about that. America hadn't been in that long, but it'd been going on in Europe for three years. And the war against Grindelwald, although less official, seemed unending.

"Come on to bed, Monie. I'll wake you if an owl comes."

Mona reluctantly said, "OK." It was almost midnight anyway and she was going to have to give up yet another dream.

...

Nine-year-old Mina Romano woke before 7 a.m. that Sunday. It was summer and the days were long, but she usually woke up early anyway. Not like her fifteen-year-old sister Ina, who tried to act like the Hollywood star she hoped to be someday, sleeping as late as she could. She sometimes even got her younger sisters to bring her breakfast in bed. Not Mina of course, who wouldn't put up with such nonsense without giving Ina a piece of her mind. But sometimes twelve-year-old Lina, who went along with things without sticking up for herself, or six-year-old Nina, who looked up to Ina, never seeing her faults.

There were seven sisters so far, but Mama was due any day with the eighth. Unlike other families in Gela, the siblings didn't show up every year or two, but every three. Mina had heard something about the Rhythm Method— 18-year-old Gina said it had nothing to do with dancing— but she wasn't clear how it, or baby-making, worked, and none of her older sisters, or Mama, or Nonna, would tell her anything beyond, "You'll know when it's time." Anyway, Papa and Mama had married in 1918, towards the end of the last war, with Mama a fresh-faced 18 in a lacy white gown (the skirt short enough to shock the nuns, although it wasn't flapper-length of course) and Papa a dapper 21 in his uniform. Then came Dina in 1921 and the rest of them like slow clockwork, with Rina at 3 still the youngest for now.

Usually on a Sunday morning, Mina would leap out of the bed she shared with Lina and Nina, sometimes getting her sisters to accompany her, but more often going into the kitchen to help Mama by herself. In such a big family, moments alone with either of her parents were precious. And Mina did love to cook. Nonna had told Mina confidentially that she was "the best cook in your generation, almost as good as me." Nonna was very old, since she was about 40 when Mama, her last baby, was born. But she was still sharp, and wise, even if she couldn't get around as well as she used to. Mina didn't want to think about what it would be like when Nonna died, but Nonna was a witch, so she might live past 100.

They were all witches, well, except for Papa of course, who was a wizard. They weren't the only magical family in Gela, but they kept a low profile. They didn't hide their magic in shame, but they didn't flaunt it in public either. "La magia è per la casa," as Nonna said, "Magic is for the house." They were also devout Catholics, which was not a contradiction, since they believed in God and knew that His power was stronger than any of theirs. They saw their magic as a gift from God. He had blessed the Romanos in that way, and in their family closeness. OK, they didn't have much money, even before the War, even before the Depression, but they had enough food and everything else they really needed.

Mina got dressed quickly and quietly, not wanting to wake her sisters. She went down to the kitchen, expecting to see her mother bending carefully over the stove, her movements slower and more cautious this late in a pregnancy. Instead, Mina saw Gina making sandwiches, with sleepy-eyed Rina on her hip.

"Oh, good, you're finally up," Gina greeted her.

"What's going on?"

"Mama's time is here. Wake Lina and Nina and you three can take Rina to the park. Then you can go to church until we send for you."

Mina remembered something like this three years ago, when Rina was born, and, more dimly, six years ago when it was Nina. "Church all day?" Even for a devout little girl, that sounded like a very long day. 

"Well, it may be quick. Ladies don't take as long with later babies."

Mina filed that away with her small store of knowledge of such matters. "Can we have money for the offertory?"

"It's on the table." As Mina pocketed it, Gina added, "And share it with them, don't keep it all for yourself."

"Of course not. Um, can we have some for the movies?"

"The movies! You're as bad as Ina!"

Mina didn't protest that it was different for her. Ina wanted to be up onscreen, while Mina just liked to watch the stories, especially the ones from the glamorous, mysterious world of America. She was old enough now to read most of the subtitles and whisper them to Nina and Rina. "Should I wake up Ina?"

Gina snorted. "Let La Principessa get herself up. She likely won't sleep through the screaming."

So there was screaming, too. Maybe that was why the younger girls were sent out of the house each time. "Does it hurt Mama?"

Gina's toughness faded for a moment. "It's part of being a woman and they say you never remember it after."

"I still do," said Dina, entering with her own baby, one-year-old Leonardo.

"Hush, not in front of the kid," Gina said, meaning Mina.

But it was Rina who piped up with "Can I have my sandwich now?"

"No, go out in the yard and play," Gina said, setting her down.

Rina half-sleep-walked out the door, looking a bit like a zombie in a movie. (Real zombies were very different, claimed Nonna, who'd met a few.)

"How's Mama?" Gina and Mina both asked.

Dina shrugged. "It's just starting. Gee, can you mind Nardo till the doctor gets here? Papa's gone to get him," she informed Mina.

Gina sighed. "All right. I'm done with the sandwiches. You, go get Lee and Nee," she ordered Mina.

Although Gina wasn't the oldest, she was the bossiest. Even before Dina got married at the beginning of the War, she had taken her role of "piccola madre," little mother, as being the steady, quiet helper in the background. Gina, maybe because she was secondborn, was pushier about it. Dina was the one you went to with scraped knees and elbows, while Gina was the one who reminded you she'd said not to "try that foolish stunt."

Dina's husband Alessandro was of course fighting the War. Mina suspected he was involved in the Magical War as well, although that affected Italy less than the Muggles' War. Even before Mussolini came to non-magical power almost twenty years ago, Italy had gone its own way magically. Unlike in France, Britain, and some other lands, there had never been a national magical school. When Lina turned eleven last Spring, there was no owl arriving at their doorstep with a letter saying she would be leaving home and learning among her peers. (Of course, it was suspected that Lina was a Squib, but there had been no letters for Dina, Gina, or Ina, when they reached eleven.) Mina knew that she would never get such a letter. Oh, Mama had known rich children before the earlier War who got letters to small, private wizarding schools, but that rarely happened these days, especially once the Depression started. It was understood that rich or poor, an Italian child would learn Muggle knowledge at the local school, and perhaps magical at home. 

Mina didn't really mind, although she enjoyed Ina's stories of an imaginary Italian wizarding school, called "La Scuola delle Bacchette e delle Meraviglie," the School of Wands and Wonders. It was fun to think of herself in such a place, but she was happy that they were all together, at least for now. Maybe they would all separate after the Muggle War ended, especially as they all grew up, but she hoped they would all at least stay on Sicily, if not in Gela.  


She didn't even really mind Gina's bossiness. So she obeyed and got her sisters out of the bed, quickly explaining to them. Nina didn't seem to remember much about last time, with Rina, so she seemed confused and a little scared, but Lina said, "Mama is strong and she'll be fine. And birth is a miracle."

Mina supposed it was, but it was a pretty common miracle.

After helping each other wash up, get dressed in their Sunday best, and braid their wavy dark brown hair, the four youngest sisters had sandwiches in the park and then made their way to church. Mina tried to concentrate but she was understandably distracted. She wondered what the new baby's name would be. She supposed it was possible that it might be the longed for boy. Papa loved them all, but he did need a son to carry on the Romano name. If it was another girl, would it be another "-ina" name? The alphabet was almost running out. Maybe it would be Tina. Or was there a name like Sina? Definitely no saints' names, but then the Romano sisters mostly had saints' names first and then the middle names that were shortened to their everyday -ina names. They were actually, in order, christened as Dominica Dinah (a Hebrew name that became an -ina name when the H was dropped), Isabella Regina (and her other nickname was of course "Queen Isabella"), Giovanna Christina (the nickname Ina rather than Trina had arisen, Papa said, because blonde Ina looked like the American actress Ina Claire), Angelina (Lina was simply an angel, even if she couldn't fly), Anna Giacomina, Claudia Antonina (by this point, Papa had seemed to have given up on an Antonio, Jr.), and Maria Marina (a double-barreled saints' name for little Rina).

"Swina, Strina, Stina, Sprina, Splina, Spina," Mina began to list them backwards alphabetically in her head. The letter S had many more possibilities than the letter R had, and she wanted to savor them. "Stina" maybe, but the others were just gibberish. "Snina, Smina," she tried not to giggle as she thought of some more. "Slina, Skina." Then she exclaimed out loud, "Sheena!" It was perfect. Sheena, Queen of the Jungle in the comic books that the American and British soldiers would bring as bribes to get the little sisters to leave their chaperone duties so the fellows could get some time alone with lovely Ina. Mina accepted the bribes if they were issues she didn't already have. And she knew Lina wouldn't give in (not because this was the one way that she was stubborn but because she was being obedient to Papa), so Ina would be guarded anyway.

Ina now stifled a giggle and Lina gave Mina a Madonna-like sad look, while Nina and Rina looked shocked that Mina had yelled in church. The priest continued as if he'd heard nothing, either out of an understanding of children or out of partial deafness.

...

Minerva McGonagall woke up just before six in the morning from a dream. Someone was chanting that rhyme that the other girls in the village said when choosing something. Mummy had told her not to repeat the "nasty" version, with the ugly word for people with dark skin. So the one that Minerva heard in her dream was the one with the tiger in it. Only instead of "eeny, meeny, miney, mo," it sounded more like names: "Ina, Mina, Minnie, Moe." Ina like the American actress Ina Claire, whom Minerva had seen once when the traveling cinema came to the village on its monthly rounds. Mina like in Wilhelmina, a German name, perhaps but not necessarily an enemy. And Minnie like Minerva's own nickname, although she only let her parents and little brothers call her that. She preferred her real name, which was from the Roman goddess of wisdom, as well as the name of her great-grandmother that she'd never met. The other girls made fun of it, but Minerva didn't care, or not much. She was proud to be clever, although clever enough not to show her pride.

As for Moe, that was a man's name, short for Morris she believed. Moe was the leader of the team of comedy buffoons she'd seen in Three Stooges short films. She didn't know what he or Ina Claire had to do with anything, and she didn't know of any celebrities named Mina.

Mummy had told her that some nursery rhymes and chants were traces of older spells, usually misinterpreted by Muggles. Minerva wondered if maybe her dream was trying to tell her something about a spell. She wished she could read well enough to look at Mummy's spellbooks, but Mummy said that would have to wait till she was eleven and getting her Hogwarts training. But Minerva was only six and a half, so that was a long way off. Daddy let her explore his library, but there was nothing magical there of course. It was mostly history and religion, since Daddy was a scholar as well as a Presbyterian minister. Minerva didn't understand all she read obviously, but she loved to sit in the windowseat with a tome as big as herself.

She also read storybooks, but mostly to four-year-old Malcolm and two-year-old Robert, Jr. She helped Mummy with them as much as she could, including explaining that they must never never do magic in front of a Muggle.

"Not even Papa?" Robbie asked once.

"Well, not very often." Daddy knew they were all magical of course, but seeing them cast spells reminded him of how he had to live a life of dishonesty, and that made him sad.

"It's like burping or picking your nose," Malcolm said. "You can do it when you're by yourself, but not around other people."

Minerva smiled and decided that that would have to do for now. She could explain what Mummy called "the nuances" when they were older.

Malcolm and Robbie thought the Three Stooges were hilarious, but it was their sort of entertainment. Minerva best liked movies set in far-away lands. She'd never been anywhere but her part of Caithness, this flat land on the very top tip of Scotland. Mummy and Daddy promised that next summer they might go to John O'Groats, and maybe even ferry across to the Orkney Islands. But it would depend on if the War was over, since unnecessary travel was discouraged, especially sea travel.

They meant the Muggle War, where Germans might sink Scottish ships, even little ferryboats. The other war, the one where Gellert Grindelwald continued to gain power, wasn't talked about as much, although Minerva would overhear things now and then. Both wars seemed distant in her peaceful little village, or like something in the background, like the Great War many, many years ago.

Minerva had distracted herself from her dream, which was probably just nonsense like most night-dreams. Daydreams were different. They gave you goals, as long as you worked towards them. Minerva's daydream of seeing more of the world would have to wait for adulthood. But the one about being magical enough to go to Hogwarts was something that she was already working on, with Mummy's training. But not today. This was a Sunday and Daddy insisted on no magic on Sundays. And Minerva was mostly an obedient little girl who loved her father dearly, so she now got out of bed and went to wash up at the basin in her attic room. Then she'd get dressed and have Mummy put her hair into one flawless black plait.


	2. April 8, 1944

Mona joined her kid brother on the roof the night of his eleventh birthday. They hadn't had a big party for him. Mama and Daddy were away at the War, and Cornball didn't have a lot of friends. He still got beat up sometimes, although much less now that his big brother was a football star on the high school team, and football was like a religion in Texas, especially at that time. (America was helping to win the War, in Europe and Asia, but victory came slowly, while on the football field you could have a victory in less than an hour, not counting the half-time show.) Everyone in town went to Jughead's games.

(Mona liked to read _Archie_ comics and had at first called her brother Archie Andrews, since he shared the first name and red hair, although he was shaped more like Moose. But her brother considered it a compliment, especially since Archie A was so popular with the girls, so she switched to "Jughead" as a nickname, although all he had in common with the hero's sidekick was they both loved hamburgers. Calling him Moose would've been too obvious.)

There was a point when Mona would beat up Corny's bullies, too, but she'd outgrown that. She was trying to be more ladylike now that she was almost a teenager. She never burped in public and she tried not to use the swear words she was learning, just filing them away for future reference, if she got really, really mad at someone. Besides, she'd learned she could sweet-talk boys, even bullies, and that was more effective than fist-fights, and less rough on her clothes, as Granny pointed out.

Granny was looking after them till Mama and Daddy got back. Mona loved Granny but missed her parents. There were things that she wanted to talk to Mama about, growing up things, like her brassiere and her period and boys, and Granny was kind of old-fashioned. Plus, Mama was fun. She'd sing and dance with the radio. And Daddy made her laugh and he made the best barbecue.

Sometimes the four children, all at once or in different combinations (but never six-and-a-half-year-old Babs by herself because she was too little), would sit on the roof and wait for owls to come with news of their parents, and every once in awhile there would be a long letter, usually from Mama, who was the writer in the family. But Mona knew that tonight Corny was also hoping for his Ilvermorny letter. He'd been waiting since Christmas, although his birthday wasn't till the day before Easter. Sometimes letters came weeks or even months early, but always by your eleventh birthday, that was the rule.

Papa had gone to Ilvermorny and been the poorest wizard in his class. Some of the other kids made fun of him. He didn't like to talk about his school days and he said Mama had learned just as much staying at home with Granny. And Granny was training the four of them, but she was very busy just looking after them, and taking in laundry to help pay the bills. Mona still wished she were going to Ilvermorny, where teachers would focus on education, not try and fit in lessons between chores and housework, including her own.

One time Mona got so mad that she almost swore and she said, "Someday I'm gonna marry a rich man and I'm not gonna do a lick of work!"

Granny snorted and said, "You think it's not work bein' married to a rich man? You should talk to your Aunt Joan sometime."

Joan was Daddy's kid sister. She'd gone to Ilvermorny, too, but she'd worshipped all the rich girls and they'd sort of adopted her as a mascot, making her run errands and stuff, but also inviting her to their parties. She'd ended up marrying the brother of one of her "friends," Alexander Reynolds, but Daddy either wasn't invited to the wedding or had refused to go. She sent Christmas cards and sometimes birthday cards, but Mona had never actually met her. She lived somewhere in New England and probably tried to pretend she wasn't really Texan.

Mona knew that if she did somehow meet and marry a rich man, likely not anyone from around here, unless Jimmy Wilson's family struck oil in their backyard, she would never act like she was better than her family. Well, OK, she was the best-looking and the smartest, but she loved all of them and nothing was more important than family. Aunt Joan should be helping them if she was so rich. But whenever Mona suggested that to Granny, her grandmother just shook her head and said, "Kin don't mean nothin' to some folks." Granny was Mama's side of the family of course, but she'd known Joan when she was a little girl and thought she was a spoiled brat then.

"Hi, Monie."

"Hey, Corny. No owls yet?" She didn't have the heart to tease more than that. She knew how painful it was when your letter didn't come. Archie had just shrugged it off, but his magic was more limited than theirs. It was different for Cornelius, who had big dreams and a lot of talent.

"No, not yet, but it's not midnight yet."

She nodded. She'd wait this out with him and maybe think of something comforting to say when the letter didn't come, as Mama had done for her. She knew that Granny would just say, "You don't need a fancy school to learn magic and why would you want to leave your kinfolk anyway?" Mona knew you could love your family and still want to leave them sometimes. She'd miss Corny if he did get a letter after all, but she'd try to be happy and not too jealous of him, and they'd still see him for vacations of course.

They ended up talking about the stars. Papa's favorite class had been Astronomy and he'd taught them all about their night sky, big and clear enough to see forever. Mona sort of believed in astrology, not the kind in the newspapers, which always seemed to say thing like it was a good day for Cancers like her to start a new business venture, but actually using the planets and stars to predict the future and understand the past and present. Granny knew some of that, but not enough to satisfy Mona. Like, Granny had predicted the wars that were going on right now, but she didn't know who would win or when.

"Is that a shooting star?" Mona asked suddenly, seeing a flash of white streaking across the sky.

Corny squinted through his glasses. "No, it's, it's an owl!" He stood up quickly, sliding a little on the tile.

"Careful, Corny!" she warned, getting up more slowly. She doubted it was an owl. But what if it was? She reminded herself that she must congratulate him and not think about how she should be starting her third year when he started his first.

The whiteness got closer and it did indeed look like it had flapping wings. It certainly wasn't shaped like a star, and a plane wouldn't move like that. By the time she'd made up her mind that it was a bird, it swooped down onto Corny's shoulder. It was a gorgeous snowy owl, with a letter in its beak.

"Oh, Corny, open it!" she cried eagerly, feeling like it was Christmas, even if this time she wasn't getting anything. At least one of them would go to Ilvermorny, and she'd be as proud as she was of the star quarterback.

Her kid brother nervously took the letter from the owl's beak. Then he frowned.

"What's wrong?" Did it have "REJECTED" right on the envelope? That would be crueler than no letter at all.

He shook his head and handed it to her, as the owl flew off into the night. The letter was addressed to "Mrs. Beulah Rockwell," Granny, from the Ministry of Magic, all the way in London! "It must be about Mama and Daddy."

"Well, it's probably somethin' good, like they're heroes and gettin' a medal or somethin'. Let's take it to her!"

Corny immediately cheered up, although Mona was bluffing. She had a bad feeling about this letter and wished she could steam it open first. But on the other hand, Granny was the grown-up and it was up to her to deal with this, whether good news or bad.

They climbed back through the window and headed down the hallway to Granny's room. They tried to be quiet, but Babs stuck her towhead out of the room she shared with Mona and sleepily asked, "What's going on?", and then a moment later Archie peered out of the boys' bedroom and asked, "Did Corn get his letter?" From the wistful tone of his voice, Mona realized that maybe it did bother Jughead, four years later, that he never got his own letter.

Corny shook his head and said, "It's for Granny."

"But she's too old to go to school!" Babs exclaimed, her drowsy brown eyes widening in disbelief.

The other three couldn't help laughing, which made Granny tear open her door and exclaim, "What in tarnation is goin' on? It's way too early and too late for you kids to be up the night before Easter." Then she looked at her younger grandson and saw the letter in his hand and the eager grin on his face. "Oh, Baby, you got your letter!" She threw her bony arms around him.

Cornelius pulled away. "No, not yet. The owl came from the Ministry of Magic, in London."

"Oh." Granny didn't look so excited anymore. She took the letter as if it might bite her. She looked at the four of them as if wondering whether she should read the letter in privacy first. But she must've decided that it would be fairest and easiest to just let them know whatever it said right away. She tore open the envelope and then unfolded the letter.

"Granny, why is it black on the edges?" asked sharp-eyed Babs. She was too little to know what Mona knew from reading long old novels and from watching sad movies. Black-edged letters meant death. Mona wished she could steer little Barbara back to bed, break this to her more gently, maybe after the Easter Egg hunt at church.

But before she could say anything, Granny coughed and said, "Well, let's see." She coughed again and then started to read aloud:

_"Dear Mrs. Beulah Rockwell,_

_It is with great regret that we inform you that your son, Frank—"_

Granny stopped suddenly. "Sugar, you need to get back to bed. You want to find all the best eggs tomorrow, don't you?" She went down the hallway and took Barbara's hand in hers, crushing the letter with her other hand.

"But what about Daddy? What happened to him?"

"He, he won't be back for Easter. The Ministry is very sorry about that."

"Oh, I knew he wouldn't be. But what about this Christmas?"

"That's, that's too far away to say. Come on, I'll tell you a story about the Easter Bunny before you go back to sleep."

"OK," Babs said and headed back into her room.

Granny dropped the letter on the floor and shut the girls' bedroom door behind her.

The two oldest children raced to pick up the letter. Archie was fast on the football field but not as fast as Mona. She scooped the letter off the floor before he could. Corny stood frozen in place. Mona gestured that her brothers should follow her back up to the roof. She didn't want Babs to overhear them in the hall.

When they were seated on the roof, her brothers on either side of her, Mona smoothed out the letter and they all silently read it.

_Dear Mrs. Beulah Rockwell,_

_It is with great regret that we inform you that your son, Frank, is missing in action, and most likely dead. We cannot reveal details at this time due to the nature of his mission. We can tell you that his wife, Katherine, is determined to find him. We'll keep you informed as events occur._

 _Regards,_  
_Wilhelmina Tuft_  
_Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation_  
_British Ministry of Magic_

Mona and her brothers looked at each other in silence, till Corny said, "Daddy is dead?"

"Not necessarily," Mona said, still trying to fake optimism.

Jughead bluntly said, "He's dead and Mama's gonna die trying to find him."

Mona stared at her older brother. He said it like Granny when she made predictions, but Jughead had no second sight. He was just being a cynical teenager, wasn't he?

Corny started crying, even though he was a big boy of eleven now. Mona put her arm around his skinny shoulders and glared at Jughead.

"We don't know nothin' for sure and there's no point in gettin' upset till we do. We've got to be brave and hope for the best."

"I can't," Jughead said hoarsely, like he was going to cry, too.

"We've gotta. For Babs. She still believes in the Easter Bunny, and I'm not gonna have you two lunkheads spoil it for her."

Her brothers laughed, although she knew they were still sad and worried. She was, too, but she wasn't going to show it if she could help it.


	3. Easter 1944

Minerva gazed out her bedroom window at the fire burning on the highest hill near the village. At eight years old, she felt ambivalent about fire. It was very beautiful of course, and it kept you warm in the winter. (There was no such thing as central heating in their manse.) Fire could be used for Flooing from place to place, although the Ministry discouraged that with the War on, so Minerva had never actually done it yet. But Mummy had told her about it of course, and it was something children could do even when they were too little for brooms.

Fire was one of the symbols of Gryffindor, the house that Mummy had belonged to at Hogwarts. (Hufflepuff was earth, Ravenclaw air, and Slytherin water.) It was also part of the legend of the Phoenix. It was powerful, for both good and evil. It was safe if contained and tamed, but very, very dangerous if it got out of control.

This fire was huge, but contained. Minerva preferred the eggs, painting them and rolling them down the hill, but that had happened in the afternoon, after the roast lamb mid-day dinner, which came after Daddy's morning sermon. She loved chasing the eggs down the hill, racing her brothers, her plait flying out behind her like a black flag.

Someday she'd go to Hogwarts, maybe get into Gryffindor, although Ravenclaw wouldn't be bad, since that was the house for the true scholars. She'd celebrate Easter at school, apparently with loads of chocolate, if Mummy's stories weren't exaggerations. But that was still a long way off. It was like the War ending; it would happen someday but meanwhile this was her life.

She sighed and decided to go downstairs and read a book in Daddy's library. She was growing into his books more, not only in that her arms were getting longer, but her vocabulary was growing, too. She understood much more than she had a couple years ago.

The library door was slightly ajar and she heard voices. Not just her parents but an unfamiliar adult. She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop but she couldn't back away when she heard her mother say, "Do the children know yet?"

What children? Minerva and her brothers? But surely her mother would know what they knew.

The strange voice, a woman's, said, "I've sent two owls to their grandmother, but I don't know if she's passed on the news yet. She may be waiting till it's confirmed."

So it wasn't about the McGonagall family. Minerva had never even met her grandmothers, or grandfathers for that matter.

"There are four of them, right?" said her father.

Four what?

"Yes, two boys and two girls I believe, still quite young, although I think all or most of them older than your Minerva."

"Poor bairns," Daddy murmured.

Some family must've been orphaned by the war. Not any family Minerva knew, but maybe her parents met them before moving to Caithness.

"Doesn't this leave Joan Reynolds as their guardian?" Mummy asked briskly.

The stranger sighed. "I'm afraid so. The grandmother would probably contest it but Madam Reynolds has all that wealth behind her."

"Is there anything I can do?" Mummy asked.

"Not as yet. But I thought you should know."

"Of course. And I appreciate it."

"Is there anything I can do? I mean, I know I'm just a, a Muggle, but my heart goes out to them."

"Just pray, Reverend McGonagall."

Minerva couldn't tell if the woman was being sarcastic, but Daddy said, "Of course."

"I'll keep you informed, Isobel."

"Thank you, Wilhelmina."

Minerva's hand flew to her mouth to cover the gasp that escaped her. Wilhelmina! Mina, like in that dream a couple years ago, which Minerva thought of every time she heard the rhyme. It wasn't that common a name, was it? Was one of the orphans a girl named Ina, another a boy named Moe? Or was this all a coincidence? She was eager to hear more, but her father said, "Oh, the door's open." Then Minerva heard his heavy tread on the wood floor as he came closer. She hid in the shadows of the downstairs hallway and then, after he shut the door, she quietly crept back up to the attic.

...

Even with Italy having surrendered to the Allies last summer, Easter was still a grand celebration in Sicily. On Good Friday, there was the hours-long torchlight procession with the hundreds of friars dressed in their ancient costumes, followed by a play about the Via Crucis, the Stations of the Cross. And the weekend was filled with activities, religious and secular, and sometimes a mixture.

With Lent coming to an end, the food, cooked by Mama and Nonna, with Mina and the other girls helping, was wonderful of course. Mina's favorites were roast lamb with artichokes, the Columba bread in the shape of doves, and of course the hollow chocolate eggs with a surprise inside. Those eggs had to be bought on the black market because of wartime, but Papa got as many as he could, even for baby Sofia. (He refused to use her nickname of Sheena, but just rolled his eyes when Mina did and had given up scolding her.)

Tomorrow, Easter Monday, there would be a dance which Ina, now 17, was eager for. Gina would go along as chaperone, since although just as marriageable as Ina, she was older and more sensible. Ina wanted Lina to go, since she was 14 now, but Lina was both shy and obedient, and she knew Papa thought she was too young. Mina at almost 11 was in no hurry to grow up and go to dances herself, but she liked hearing her sisters' stories about them.

On Sunday night, Ina was again nudging Lina to go, saying how fun it would be and that she'd introduce her kid sister to soldiers, which frightened Lina even more. And Dina was saying, "Ina, if she doesn't want to go, don't make her. But, Lina, if you change your mind, let me know, so I can raise the hem on your second-best dress." And then the barn owl flew onto the open windowsill of the middle sisters' bedroom.

For several heart-stopping moments, Mina thought a letter had come for her for some magical school. Not in Italy of course, but maybe France. No one knew exactly where Beauxbatons was but even Paris was only a day away by boat and train. Of course, it would take much longer with the War on, especially with France and Italy as recent enemies, but maybe the French magical school somehow heard of her talent and wanted to recruit her, despite the Muggles' war. Mina wanted to go if she had the chance, although it would be hard to say goodbye to her family.

"La Scuola delle Bacchette e delle Meraviglie," eight-year-old Nina murmured, while five-year-old Rina's jaw had dropped so low that the chocolate drooled out of her mouth and onto her chin. Dina glared at Ina for storytelling and wordlessly wiped Rina's chin with a handkerchief.

The owl cocked its head to one side before scanning the room. Mina waited impatiently for it to notice her, to realize that she was the only one of age to go, unless Lina was getting her letter very late, or Ina extremely late. To everyone's surprise, the owl flew over to Dina, who at 23 was much too old even for Muggle college. Mina wanted to make a joke about it but it occurred to her that this might not have anything to do with school, especially during wartime.

Dina hesitantly took the letter from the owl, which flew off immediately, as if not expecting a reply. She looked around the room as if reluctant to read the letter in front of her little sisters. If Gina had been there, rather than downstairs minding Nardo and Sheena and helping Mama and Nonna in the kitchen, she would've shooed everybody out except maybe Ina. But Dina seemed to decide that the family would soon find out whatever the letter said, so she took it out of the envelope and read it, but to herself. By the end, tears were streaming down her face.

"Alessandro?" Ina asked gently.

Dina nodded. "I need to go tell Mama and Papa."

"I'll go with you." Ina could be very sweet and supportive in a crisis.

The four younger sisters looked at each other in amazement. Of course they'd heard of men they knew dying in the War, and women and children, too. With the Invasion of Sicily last summer, the war had really come home, even to Gela in the southern end of the island. And distant relatives had been affected, at the least evacuated, at most killed. Alessandro was a prisoner of war in England, doing daytime work on a farm in Shropshire, which was somewhere in the West of that country. On the one hand, this was terrible, that he was a prisoner and no one knew when he was coming home. But on the other hand, at least he was alive and reportedly healthy, and he was the son of a farmer, so he knew and loved the work. Best of all, there was the hope that when the War was finally over, he would come home. Now he was dead and three-year-old Leonardo would grow up fatherless. And Dina was a young widow who hadn't had much chance to be a wife.

"Why didn't the Muggle government tell us?" Mina asked, not sure if she meant the British government or the government of Pietro Badoglio, Mussolini's successor.

Lina shook her head. "I'm not sure. But owls can travel with news faster than Muggle communication sometimes."

Mina nodded. "It's not as if we have a telephone." Phones were luxuries, like indoor plumbing. (They did have electricity though, but had to use it sparingly.)

"Right. And Muggles have bureaucracy. News has to go through channels."

"Like the English Channel?" Rina asked, making them laugh despite their sadness.

And then Nina said, "Poor Nardo!" and they all started to cry.


	4. April 10, 1944

There was no school on Monday because they had the week after Easter as a vacation. So it was a surprise when Granny yelled at them that morning to get their behinds downstairs faster than a sneeze through a screen door.

Mona was sure another owl had finally arrived and they would find out what had happened to their parents. She had to know, good or bad. She wished Granny hadn't called them all. If only Babs could lie in bed awhile longer and then Mona could break it to her gently. But it was something that Granny apparently thought all four should know, which might've meant good news.

Mona helped her kid sister get dressed and they made it down to the living room on the heels of their brothers, Corny the most eager of all. None of them were too surprised to see a stranger standing there. Maybe she was from the Ministry of Magic and was going to deliver the news in person.

But when she spoke, it wasn't anything like British accents in the movies or the radio. It was fancy, but more like Bostonian. "So these are my darling little nieces and nephews, are they?"

"Yep, that's them," Granny said flatly.

"Who are you?" Babs asked, her brown eyes going from sleepy to wide.

"Why, I'm your Auntie Joan!" she said, spreading her arms wide. Not like she was going to hug them all but more like she was an actress making a grand entrance.

So this was Daddy's sister. She wasn't pretty or ugly but she was stylish in an understated, classy way. Like, she wore a fur stole but it wasn't long or flashy, and her light brown hair was in an upsweep that looked casual but probably was costly. She was tall and thin, not like Granny, where you knew she'd grown up without enough to eat, but as if she ate small portions of the best food.

"Pleased to meet you," Archie said, coming closer and sticking out his hand.

"Well, aren't you the little gentleman?" Aunt Joan said as she shook his hand.

Mona snorted. Archie wasn't little or a gentleman.

Aunt Joan looked at Mona, frowned for a moment, and then beamed and said, "And this must be Mona. What pretty red hair!"

"Thank you," Mona said reluctantly.

"And let me see, Cornelius is the one with glasses. And that's little Barbara. No need to be shy, My Dears. We're going to be such good friends!"

"We are?" Corny asked.

"Yes. And you're going to love your new home."

"Our new home?!" Mona blurted out.

"Yes, in Maine. A sweet little cottage."

Mona almost asked if it had seven dwarves in it, but she bit her tongue just in time.

"But I want to stay with Granny!" Babs whined, not that Mona blamed her.

"Of course you do," Aunt Joan said, to their surprise. "But she's getting old and four children are a lot of work, especially with your parents away."

"They're coming back?" Corny asked eagerly, having zeroed in on that part of it.

"Well, it is wartime," Joan said gently, "and we don't know for sure. But it is possible."

That didn't sound too promising to Mona but it was better than Mama and Daddy definitely being dead. Except for the uncertainty of course. And the fact that for some reason they had to go live with Aunt Joan. Mona didn't buy that Granny was too old to take care of them. That old lady was still a tornado and would probably live to be a hundred. Besides, Archie was a teenager and Mona almost was. It wasn't like they were all as little as Babs.

"Now you children go pack and quit this dilly-dallying," Granny scolded. "You've got a long train ride ahead of you."

"A train!" Babs and Corny exclaimed. They'd never been on a train before. Neither had Mona but she figured she'd take one on her honeymoon someday, maybe to Florida. And anyway, she didn't want to go anywhere with Aunt Joan. But if Granny wasn't fighting for them, what could they do?

"I was thinking," said Aunt Joan, "wouldn't it be faster and more fun to Floo to Maine?"

"Flooing!" This time even Archie joined in the shouts of joy.

"I don't know, Joan. Babs gets carsick sometimes, and you know Flooing can be discombobulatin' the first couple times."

"Please, Granny, I want to Floo!" Babs begged.

Granny sighed. "Fine, have it your way." She seemed to be speaking more to their aunt than to the little girl. Mona almost didn't recognize this defeated old woman. What had happened to Granny's spunk?

Mona wanted to rebel but she couldn't do it alone. Well, she'd go to Maine for the week and come back in time for school next Monday. It'd be fun to tell her friends about her surprise travels, although she wouldn't say that she went through fireplaces of course. It was probably a day and a half, two days, by train, so it was possible to go there and back in a week, so she'd say they took a train. She'd seen enough movies with scenes on trains to fake that.

"All right, Children, go pack. And change into something that you won't mind getting soot on." Now Joan was giving them orders, but in that phony sweet voice of hers.

Mona dragged herself back upstairs and packed, of course helping Babs pack, too. They hardly ever went anywhere, but they did have a suitcase each, just in case. Daddy had promised they'd travel all around the country after the War, but that was probably never going to happen. Well, it was possible, Mona supposed.

When the four of them came back downstairs, they looked like rag-pickers' children. It was a funny way to start a new life in the lap of luxury. Of course, it sounded like maybe Aunt Joan wasn't as rich as she dressed, if she lived in "a sweet little cottage" rather than a mansion. Mona had packed her and Babs's best clothes, for later, but these dresses were fine for stepping into and out of fireplaces.

Granny hugged each of the children in turn. She looked so tiny in Archie's arms. When it was Mona's turn, Granny whispered, "You be a good girl. Or at least a good Monie."

Mona smiled. She silently promised to be the best self she could.

Then Granny hugged Corny, who was crying behind his glasses. Granny took out a hanky and wordlessly wiped his eyes and nose.

Babs surprisingly wasn't crying, but she asked, "Will you visit us?"

Granny hesitated and then said, "As much as I can." Mona didn't like the sound of that.

"Come along, Children, it's getting late," Aunt Joan gently chided as she tossed a handful of glittery powder into the fireplace that had been lit while the children went back upstairs. The orange and red flames turned to a shiny green.

 _Late for what?_ Mona wondered. They hadn't even had breakfast. She wished she'd known yesterday that Granny's Easter dinner was the last she'd ever make for them, probably.

"You first, Archibald," Aunt Joan said.

He looked over his shoulder at Mona, looking more nervous than he ever had on the football field. She realized then that he'd never Flooed either, and he was the least magical of them. She had a sudden horrifying vision of her older brother burning to death, but hopefully Floo powder worked on Squibs, too. It wasn't like brooms or Apparition, where you had to control the magic. You just stepped into the flames and said your destination. Mona gave what she hoped was a reassuring nod. Archie looked over at their aunt.

"The Pines Cottage," Joan told him. "And don't forget to close your eyes."

He nodded and stepped into the fireplace, trying not to bump his head on the bricks at the top of the entrance. "The Pines Cottage," he mumbled as he closed his eyes, and then he disappeared in a green fireball. Mona waited for the smell of charred flesh, but it didn't come. So she bravely stepped forward.

"Sorry, Dear, but ladies last in this case. Cornelius?"

He shuffled forward, pushing his glasses up. Then he got that look on his face, what Mona thought of as his "Clark Kent becoming Superman" look. And he strode into the fireplace as if he might be facing death, but he would do what he had to do. "The Pines Cottage," he said with his hands on his hips and his eyes squeezed shut. Some of the flames looked like a billowing cape behind him, and then they swirled around him and he was gone.

"Mona?"

She tried to read the expression on her aunt's face. She still didn't trust the woman, but Joan probably wasn't a murdereress. Mona glanced at Babs, who was looking nervous.

"Can I take Babs with me?"

"I'm afraid we have to go one at a time."

Mona couldn't remember if that was true. Granny hadn't gone into detail on Flooing, beyond that their fireplace could be connected to the Floo System when necessary, but it hadn't come up in fifteen years. Mona didn't want to leave Babs with Aunt Joan, but Granny was still there and could perhaps protect the little girl. And Mona had to find out what had happened to her brothers. Plus, she was curious about Flooing.

She walked into the fireplace and said, "The Pines Cottage." She didn't close her eyes all the way, so, through the flames and the soot, she caught a swirling glimpse of Babs reaching out to her as Granny pulled the little girl back. Aunt Joan stood straight as a pillar.

Mona bumped an elbow on a wall that flew by, so she tucked both elbows in. Joan had forgotten to warn them about that, just the eye thing. Mona reluctantly shut her eyes all the way, although she wished she could see what she was passing. Or would that make her nauseous? As it was, she felt like she was on one of the faster rides at the state fair. It would've been fun if she weren't dreading what would be on the other end.

After what might've been only a minute or two but felt longer, Mona came to a stop. She squinted and saw she was in a different fireplace, in a different room. Through the flames, she could see three figures, two of whom might've been her brothers. Coughing a little, she emerged into a large pine-walled living room. Yes, Jughead and Cornball were here, the younger brother rubbing both elbows, probably regretting having had his hands on his hips. The other person, an elderly woman, was dressed like a servant, maybe a cook, so Aunt Joan must have some money, even if she was just middle-class.

"Monie!" her brothers cried and ran over to hug her, as if they'd been separated for months, not minutes.

She hugged them back, glad that they were whole and safe, and they were together. Well, except.

"Where's Babs?" Corny asked.

"Still back home. She should be along any minute."

"Miss Rockwell, what would you like for breakfast?" the servant asked.

"Oh, just eggs, sausage, toasted English muffins with grape jelly and butter, grits, and whatever fruit's in season in Maine."

The cook blanched. "I'll see what I can do." She left the room.

Mona was eager to talk to her brothers while they were alone, but she didn't get beyond, "So what should we do?" before the fireplace hissed and the emerald flames swirled to reveal a tall, thin figure.

"Well, I see you all arrived safely," Aunt Joan said as she strode out of the fireplace and into the room. Her gray and black Chanel suit hardly showed the soot, although Mona could see that Archie and Corny looked like chimney sweeps, and she was sure she was just as sooty, especially after hugging them. But Mona had a larger concern than how she looked.

"Where's Babs?" she demanded.

"Little Barbara will be on her way in a moment."

Mona wondered why Joan hadn't gone last. Was she afraid that if the four children were together without her, they'd run off? Maybe Babs wasn't really coming. In a way, that might be better. She could stay and keep Granny company. Maybe she was too little for whatever Joan's schemes were. But Mona would miss her baby sister terribly. Well, she'd figure out a way to get home, even if she had to hitchhike. Hopefully, her brothers would go with her, but she'd go on her own if she had to. The danger would be worth it to be with her grandmother and sister in Texas, rather than in Maine with her strange stranger of an aunt.

Before she could think of what to say next, the fire spluttered and the flames swirled again, this time parting for a much smaller figure. "Babs!" Mona and her brothers called out. The little girl ran into an eight-armed hug.

"What a charming picture you all make! I see I was right not to separate you. For now."

The four of them let go and looked at their aunt. It was Archie who said, "What do you mean?"

"If you're good, you can stay here. If not, well."

"What do you mean by good?" Mona asked.

Aunt Joan shook her head. "I see you're growing up to be like your mother, all boobs and no brains."

Mona was usually proud of her bosom, the largest in the seventh-grade class. She indeed hoped to look just like her mother someday, but her aunt made that sound like something shameful. And "boobs" was not a word to say in front of children, especially someone as little as Babs, who probably didn't know what it meant and would probably ask Mona later. Mona blushed.

"Mama ain't stupid! And neither is Monie," Corny declared.

" 'Ain't'? And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. I guess I was deceived by the glasses."

"Is this why you brung us here? To insult us?" Archie asked.

"Not at all, Dear Boy. I brought you here because you're four orphans of traitors."

Mona's eyes widened at the word "traitors," but that was definitely a word Babs didn't know. She puddled up over the word she echoed: "Orphans?"

"Yes, my foolish brother and his bimbo wife—" Archie clenched his fists and looked like he was about to break his word to Daddy to never hit a woman, but Aunt Joan sailed on. "May not technically be traitors, but they did die in the service of Grindelwald."

"That ain't true!" Babs sobbed.

"The word is 'isn't,' but it is true. I've heard from the Ministry of Magic, as has your grandmother. But apparently she decided not to tell you."

"Mama ain't a bimbo!" Archie said defiantly.

"Of course not, Little Man. And that's why she married Frank a full six months before you were born."

Archie blushed as if he'd known about this. Mona hadn't but it made sense of some things she'd overheard over the years. Still, Mama was a good woman and Mona refused to believe that she would work for the most evil wizard of the century, the one who committed or at least oversaw murders throughout Europe and America, from his fortress in Nuremgard. Besides, what about the letter they'd read from the Ministry? That did not at all make it sound like Mama or Daddy were traitors.

Mona was just about to point this out, when she stopped herself. Maybe it was better that Joan not know about them reading Granny's letter, and not just because it was wrong to read private correspondence. Better that their aunt think they were stupid and ignorant. So she made herself cry a little as she timidly asked, "Are we going to jail?"

Her brothers and sister stared at her as if this wasn't their feisty Monie, but Joan seemed to take it on the surface, "Of course not, Dear. You're all children and knew nothing of your parents' treachery. I'll keep you hidden away safe, here at the Pines. The Ministry won't punish you for your parents' misdeeds. They just want you out of the influence of your grandmother."

"But Granny promised to visit!" Babs exclaimed.

"She said she would if she could, but she probably can't."

"Can we write to her?" Corny asked.

"I suppose there's no harm in that."

Archie looked around. "So when do we meet our uncle, Mr. Reynolds?"

"Oh, he'll visit sometime when he's not busy with work."

"Visit? Doesn't he live here?" Corny asked.

Aunt Joan laughed as if Corny had said something marvelously witty. "Here? Of course not! Uncle Alexander and I live in our mansion. And our summer home in the summer of course. And we have an estate in England, but of course we haven't been there since the War began."

"We're not going to live with you?" Mona tried to keep the relief out of her voice.

"No, no, Alexander doesn't want a pack of uncouth children underfoot. But I'll look in on you now and then. And Mrs. Henderson will keep an eye on you."

Mrs. Henderson was apparently the cook, and perhaps governess. She now came back to the living room to say, "Breakfast is served." Mona hoped she could make grits, but they'd never be as good as Granny's.


	5. May 8, 1945

The McGonagalls were gathered around the wireless, listening to a broadcast about the V-E Day celebrations in London, with King George VI, Queen Elizabeth, and Winston Churchill greeting the cheers of a million people. It felt as far away as the War had been, but Minerva at nine years old knew that it would affect them even in the manse on the northern tip of Scotland.

"Daddy," Robby asked, "can we go to John O' Groats next week?"

Their father chuckled and ruffled the five-year-old's messy black hair. "Well, not that soon, but probably this summer."

Both boys cheered. Minerva smiled. It would be lovely to see the sea in the summer.

Then suddenly the wireless crackled the way it did sometimes. The reception in Caithness was unpredictable. Sometimes it came through clear as a bell, even picking up signals in Europe, making Minerva wish she understood more French, Italian, and even German. And other times it was nothing but static. This time, it was a crackle and a buzz, and then instead of a BBC announcer with posh vowels there was a man with what Minerva knew from the movies as a West Country accent.

"Attention, Ladies and Gentlewizards, this is Thomas Allworthy of the WWN."

"The Wizarding Wireless Network!" seven-year-old Malcolm exclaimed.

"Reports are filtering in that Professor Albus Dumbledore, Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has defeated Gellert Grindelwald in single combat."

The McGonagall children cried out at this astounding news, till Mrs. McGonagall shushed them.

"...allegedly imprisoned Grindelwald in the topmost cell at Nuremgard."

Minerva had heard of Nuremgard of course. It was the prison that Grindelwald had built to hold his captured opponents.

"So Professor Dumbledore didn't kill him?" Malcolm sounded disappointed.

"They'll still have to hold a trial," Mummy said.

"So the Wars are both over," Daddy murmured.

"I think so," she said softly.

Minerva was as happy as her brothers, until she looked at her mother, who seemed to be thinking of something sad. Maybe she was thinking of all the lives that had been lost or at least damaged by the Wars, like that family of four orphans that Minerva had heard about over a year ago.

...

The grammar school held an assembly so all the classes could hear the radio broadcasts about V-E Day. Mona, although in the eighth grade and reasonably popular for "a new kid," got permission to sit next to sixth-grader Corny and second-grader Babs. They weren't the only children in Eastham, this little town in Maine, to have lost family, mostly fathers and brothers, to the War, but she knew that they were the only ones to have been orphaned in the way they were.

Of course, not everyone in school realized that they were orphans. Aunt Joan and Uncle Alexander had the children call them Mother and Father in public. They hadn't visited often in the past year or so, but when they did, the Rockwell children had to pretend that these were their parents. And they were encouraged to speak of them as their parents. Mona reluctantly played along, although once when she called Joan "Mummy," her aunt later slapped her across the face for her sarcasm. It was back at Pines Cottage, not in public of course, but it was in front of her siblings. Mona felt ashamed but she mumbled an apology. She was trying not to let her spirit be broken, but she did fear her aunt, and to a lesser degree her uncle, who was cold and mostly silent.

Archie had stepped forward to defend her, but Mona waved him back. He could've beaten Joan physically, but she would've retaliated magically. And, despite an occasional letter from Grandmother Rockwell, as they were now supposed to refer to Granny, the four children were very much dependent on their aunt and uncle.

"For poor relations, we live pretty good," Mona had once observed to her brothers when they were alone. She was being sarcastic, but she sort of meant it. Pines Cottage had turned out to be larger than she expected, with six bedrooms, although it was like a shack compared to the mansion that the Rockwell orphans had not yet been invited to. Mona had seen pictures of it, including in _Life_ magazine. They had plenty to eat and Mrs. Henderson was a good cook, if not in Granny's league. (And no grits, except on Mona's birthday, as a special treat.) As for the "clothing" part of food, clothing, and shelter, Mona was the best dressed girl in her grade, not movie-star level but quite fashionable for a sub-subdeb. That, and her liveliness and striking looks, helped overcome somewhat the fact that they weren't born in Eastham. Even Corny had a few friends now, although none of the children could risk getting close to outsiders. They had too many secrets, not just magic, like back in Texas.

The Lone Star State seemed as far away as Europe, where that part of the War had come to an end. Hitler had committed suicide at the end of last month— canceling Archie's fantasies of running off and joining up at 16 so he could kill the head Nazi himself— and now Germany had surrendered. Mona joked last week that Jughead could still kill Grindelwald, but of course there was no way a Squib could do that. The truth was, she was afraid that the War on the Asian Front would drag on at least another two years, and Archie would go fight in Japan and be killed. She didn't say that though of course.

Victory in Europe Day was also Harry S Truman's birthday. The new president dedicated the victory to the memory of FDR, who'd died almost a month ago. Roosevelt's death had saddened Mona of course. He'd been president since she was a baby, even before Corny was born. So much had changed and was changing. Maybe things would start to get better soon, with the War on the European Front over.

"My only wish is that Franklin D. Roosevelt had lived to witness this day." Mona was still adjusting to the Missouri twang of President Truman after his predecessor's posh accent, in the opposite way she was getting used to the Maine accents instead of Texan.

"Can we go home now?" Babs whispered to her big sister.

"Nah, I think they'll keep us in assembly till school lets out like usual."

Babs shook her head. "I mean home to Granny."

Mona gave her baby sister a quick hug. "Not just yet, Sugar." She was afraid that it would be never, but she couldn't say that to Babs. Mona wished they could at least run off to New York for the day, to see the big celebrations in Times Square. But she dreaded the punishment they'd face once they were caught. Better to pretend to be good and obedient for now.

...

V-E Day was much less celebratory in Italy, but the Romanos were relieved that the War was over at last. Alessandro of course wouldn't be coming home, but otherwise the family was intact. And Mama was expecting her ninth and probably last child. It would be named Tony if a boy, Tina if a girl.

Twelve-year-old Mina still thought sometimes about what would've happened if the owl last year had been for her from a magical school. But that was just daydreams, and everyday life was housework and helping with her younger siblings. The War being over wouldn't change that.

And then Gina came home with news that she was engaged, to an American soldier! On the one hand, it was good news that Gina was engaged. She was twenty-one, not yet an old maid of course, but at her age Mama had been married for three years and had Dina. On the other hand, the Americans were sort of the enemy. Yes, Salvador Seratelli was Italian-American, but third generation. Mina was happy for her sister of course, but she knew they would all miss her. Sal didn't even live in New York City, like Mina would've expected. He was all the way on the West Coast of America, in San Francisco. Gina would probably never be able to visit them, and of course they couldn't visit her. Papa couldn't afford to take them all by boat and train, and of course airplanes were impossibly expensive. It was too far to Apparate, and even fifteen-year-old Lina was still too young for that.

Papa and Mama gave their blessing, despite their worries. Nonna said, "At least a couple of his grandparents came from Sicily. And we can be glad that she's marrying a Catholic."

The wedding would be that summer, probably after Mama's baby was born, since Gina insisted it was tacky for the Mother of the Bride to be visibly pregnant at a wedding, as Mama had been with Rina at Dina's wedding six years ago. Ina had cracked, "At least Dina wasn't the pregnant one," which made Mina giggle and Lina blush.

This wouldn't be a big wedding but Mina would be a bridesmaid rather than a flower girl this time. She was old for her age, tall and with the beginning of a bosom, although not yet her Curse. (When her older sisters first told her about that time of the month, they had to explain that it wasn't a magical curse.) She would've looked gawky and overgrown as a flower girl, while Nina, Rina, and Sheena would be cute and adorable.

Despite the sadness of losing their sharp-tongued, bossy, but good-hearted sister, the wedding would be a happy celebration, unlike today, where there was little to be glad and grateful for, beyond the sense of relief.


	6. 30 and 31 August 1947

The last weekend before Minerva went off to Hogwarts was more eventful than any she could remember after almost a dozen years in Caithness. To begin with, although the magical school was in Scotland, she and her parents had to travel all the way to London to catch the Hogwarts Express.

"I know it's illogical, Love," her mother said, "but the only way for children your age to get to Hogsmeade is by the special train."

Minerva didn't mind. The journey to London was exciting in itself. They started out on Saturday. Daddy's curate, Abernathy, drove the car five hours to Edinburgh and then back. In return for this favour and for delivering the Sunday sermon, he'd have use of the car while they were away, which pleased the young man exceedingly, since he couldn't afford a car of his own. Meanwhile, the McGonagalls took a Muggle train down to London, another five hours. Then they made their way to Diagon Alley. Mummy remembered the route exactly, although she hadn't been there since she attended Hogwarts.

They stayed overnight at the Leaky Cauldron Inn. Minerva was eager to explore the magical street and found it hard to sleep. Also, proud as she was to be grown up enough to go somewhere with her parents alone, she missed her brothers. Robbie had cried when she hugged him goodbye after breakfast, and not much made him cry at seven. Nine-year-old Malcolm tried to act tougher, like the cowboys in the Westerns he loved, but she could tell he was sad, too. At the time, it was hard for her to feel the sadness, excited as she was about her journey and what would come after. Now that she was in this quiet, unfamiliar room, she could let it sink in that she wouldn't see her brothers again for nearly four months, not till the Christmas holidays. Until their parents returned Monday night, the boys would be under the care of Mrs. Abernathy, the curate's new bride. They had sworn to uphold the story that Minerva was going away to "boarding school," knowing that in a few years they would be joining her.

Minerva was also thinking about all that she'd seen that day, traveling the length of Britain when the furthest from home she'd ever been was John O'Groats. She wished they'd been able to get out of the car longer than it took for a rest stop. And Southern Scotland and all of England had been glimpsed from the train windows. She wished she could explore a little, but maybe when she was older. For now, her eyes devoured the way the landscape went from flat plains to the Highlands and then to fields of red, yellow, and green, and then into the farms of England, with occasional little towns and big cities along the way, until the great city of London came into view.

The magical age of adulthood, seventeen, was over five years away. Her birthday wasn't till October, so there'd been a gap of almost a year between getting her Hogwarts letter of acceptance and this departure for the fabled school. In the privacy of her room at the inn, she took the letter out of her satchel and, by candlelight, read it for the umpteenth time:

__

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

__

_Headmaster: Armando Dippet_

_Dear Miss McGonagall,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September of next year, as you did not turn eleven in time for this year. Luckily, this gives you much more time to shop and pack._

_Yours sincerely,_  
_Albus Dumbledore_  
_Deputy Headmaster_

Minerva treasured the letter not only because it was her passport to the school of her dreams, but because it came from Professor Dumbledore, who was still teaching Transfiguration and assisting Professor Dippet, despite the defeat of Grindelwald, which earned him the Order of Merlin (First Class), awarded by Leonard Spencer-Moon, who had been Minister for Magic since the beginning of the Wars. She couldn't remember his predecessor, Hector Fawley, but of course she'd heard of how he was forced out of office for not taking the threat of Grindelwald seriously enough. Minister Spencer-Moon was a much better leader, but Mummy had heard rumours from her Ministry contacts that he was thinking of retiring next year. The Wars had aged him and he didn't have the energy he once did. One rumour was that Dumbledore would be asked to be Minister, but, much as Minerva admired him, she hoped Dumbledore would wait awhile longer. Transfiguration was the subject she was most eager to learn and it would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn it from someone as clever as Dumbledore.

He'd taught Mummy, back in the late '20s and early '30s, and Mummy said that Dumbledore was brilliant, with a sly sense of humour, and a great deal of kindness and patience. He sounded like the perfect teacher.

Mummy had cried when she read Minerva's letter. Some of it was tears of joy and pride, but Minerva had observed enough of her mother to know that some of it was tears of envy. It wasn't just that the former Isobel Ross wanted to relive her happy, carefree yet studious adolescence, but it was also that Mummy was isolated from her kind, not another witch or wizard, except her children, for miles. At Hogwarts, she'd been surrounded by her peers, as Minerva soon would be.

Minerva did eventually drift off that Saturday night. She woke to the bustling sounds of a wizarding inn, so different and far away from the manse. She missed her attic bedroom and wondered what it would be like to share a room with three or four other girls, but maybe it would be like having sisters, except sisters who were the same age and had the same interests.

Although Dumbledore had said they'd have a year to shop and pack, it hadn't been possible to make this long journey before, so all her school shopping would have to be done that Sunday. Neither of her parents liked to do things last minute, nor did Minerva, but it was unavoidable. They weren't the only family rushing from shop to shop, buying robes and hats, cauldrons and wands, and so on.

Getting a wand was the most important part of course, a rite of passage for every magical child. As Mr. Ollivander explained, and as Minerva already knew from her reading, it was not so much a matter of choosing a wand as a wand choosing you. She was delighted when she had the most success with a 9 1/2" fir wand with a dragon heartstring for its core.

"Ah, an excellent wand, perfect for Transfiguration," Mr. Ollivander said with a smile, his uncanny silver eyes seeming to see right through her. He couldn't have known she was interested in Transfiguration, could he? Perhaps he was a Legilimens and could read minds. Or perhaps he was just a good salesman, successfully running his family's business, which the sign said was established in 382 BC.

Buying books was wonderful, too. Flourish and Blotts wasn't as old as Ollivanders but it had been founded in 1454. Minerva wanted to curl up in a corner with a book, not necessarily a first-year textbook, and just soak up the centuries of magical language. But there were other things on her list and her mother bustled her out of the shop after half an hour, most of that time waiting in the queue.

The last shop they went to was the Magical Menagerie. The back of the acceptance letter had said that first-years might have a cat, a toad, or an owl. It was a tough decision, although Minerva had been thinking about it for years, as she listened to Mummy's stories and daydreamed about her own future at Hogwarts. Mummy had had an owl, which of course was useful for sending post, but the school did have an owlery, where you could borrow an owl when needed. Toads were beginning to be seen as old-fashioned, according to _Witch Weekly_ articles like "Preparing Your Child for Hogwarts," but Mummy said there was nothing wrong with being old-fashioned, and toads were good all-weather pets you could take anywhere.

Minerva knew though, she most wanted a cat. She'd wanted one for years, because cats were soft and cuddly yet fierce and independent. But some of the villagers were prejudiced against cats, thinking they were unlucky, not just the black ones. Daddy said that it would look bad for the minister to own one. But this cat wouldn't be around all that much, just accompanying Minerva on holidays. And maybe she could keep it out of sight when she was at home.

She tried to explain this calmly and logically to her parents, but they both gently said no.

"If you're worried about 'familiars' and all that, wouldn't a toad or an owl look just as suspicious to the villagers?" she argued.

Mummy sighed. "Muggles don't have those sort of associations with owls and toads. Well, the ancient Greeks associated owls with wisdom, and some modern Muggles do. But they don't think of them with witches, as they think of cats."

"And toads are seen as harmless. My brother had one as a lad," said Daddy.

Minerva wondered but didn't ask how other magical children who lived in Muggle communities managed. And she didn't throw a temper tantrum, as the little blonde girl on the other side of the shop was, over not getting the sort of cat that she wanted.

"How can you be out of Persians?" she whinged, stomping her feet. 

"It's all right, Gilda Love," said the girl's mother. "We'll come back next year, after you get your letter."

Minerva's parents looked at each other as if glad that they weren't spoiling their children like that. Then they looked at Minerva with her most patient expression on her face.

"Perhaps a kitten wouldn't do any harm," her father said.

Her mother shook her head. "It's too big a risk. Minnie, you can have all the cats you want when you're grown up. But for now...." She looked between the tank filled with toads and the owl cages suspended from the ceiling.

Minerva sighed. "I'll take a toad."

"Are you sure?" Daddy asked. "Owls are dead useful, you know."

"No, a toad is fine." She stopped herself from adding, "If I can't have a cat, it doesn't matter what I get." She didn't want to seem ungrateful. She knew that a Hogwarts pet was optional, unlike the wand and the books and other supplies. And she didn't say that she could never marry a Muggle, like Mummy had done, if she wanted cats as an adult. Or at least not a Muggle who was a minister in a closed-minded village.


	7. 1 September 1947, Morning

"How can Mama have another baby? Isn't she too old?"

Leave it to Rina to ask the unaskable. At least the eight-year-old didn't say it in front of their parents. Mama would be almost 48 when the new baby arrived in April. And she was a grandmother of two, since Gina had recently had a daughter named Sally, as they learned when the owl arrived from San Francisco.

"Well," seventeen-year-old Lina said, blushing, "she's older than most mothers, but Nonna wasn't much younger than that when Mama was born."

"Besides," said Nina, "witches don't age the same way as Muggles." Nina was eleven now and she hadn't gotten a letter from a magical school either, but she read a lot about magic.

"What will the new baby's name be?" asked five-year-old Sheena.

"Zina I guess," Mina said, giggling a little. They were running out of the alphabet. She certainly hoped Mama didn't have another daughter at 51. Surely by then she'd have gone through The Change, right? Dina had explained that to her, but she did say it came at different ages.

"Oo, I can't wait to tell Ina when she comes home!" Rina exclaimed.

"Let Mama tell her, and Gina," Dina said in her gentle way that they all listened to, even her mischievous little son, who was now six.

After the War was completely over, in Asia, too, Ina had pleaded that she was eighteen and old enough to move to Rome to be a movie actress. Her parents put their feet down. She did threaten to run away but Dina had argued that Rome would be less chaotic if Ina waited three years till she was twenty-one. Ina gave in but argued that she should be able to act in any movies made on location in Sicily. It was easy for Mama and Papa to give in on that, since it seemed unlikely. But the film industry was bouncing back and Ina was now an extra in Palermo. She even had a line once! She shared a one-bedroom apartment with Carla, her best friend from school, and both girls were expected to come home at least once a week, "for food and laundry," Mama half-joked. Papa would've sent Dina along as a chaperone if he could've but his firstborn refused to leave her only child behind, and it wouldn't have been practical for the two of them to move in with "le attrici," as Gina sarcastically called them in her letters, although "le cameriere" (the waitresses) would've been more accurate. Even ten thousand miles away, it still felt like Gina was with them, no more separated than Ina, one hundred miles away.

And home was just as crowded as ever, with one grandmother, two parents, seven daughters, and one grandson. The departures of Gina and Ina, and then later the weaning of Tina, had meant some shuffling in the three girls' bedrooms. So now it was Mina and Lina with Dina as the "big girls," and Nina and Rina as the "middle girls," while Sheena and Tina, and probably the new baby as well, even if it was the long longed-for boy, in the "little girls' room." (Nonna and Nardo both had tiny bedrooms to themselves. And Papa and Mama of course shared, as proved by this latest pregnancy.)

It was surprising how much was still the same. Mina and her sisters still went to the local school, although Lina had only one more year left. They still went to church every Sunday. And they still practiced magic at home. Mina imagined life would always go on like this, even as, one by one, they'd grow up, get married, and settle near Mama and Papa, and Nonna while she lived. Even Ina would come back home, or at most marry someone in Palermo and visit, once she was too old to be an actress.

Mina knew that in the old days, in Nonna's time, a fourteen-year-old wouldn't be too young to start wondering who she would marry. It might even be an arranged marriage. But this was the 20th century, and even an old-fashioned family like the Romanos believed in falling in love and choosing your own spouse. Also, there was no hurry. Lina had a boyfriend, almost as shy as herself, and they were unlikely to get married any time soon. Mina had crushes on classmates but still was in no hurry for the world of romance. She'd sometimes go to the movies with a group of kids in her grade, but it was just friends, no pairing off. And just as often, it would be her and Lina taking their little sisters along.

The main difference between now and the War was that they didn't have to worry about relatives dying anymore. It was back to the life she dimly remembered from when she was little, except now of course she was older.

...

It was strange riding the Hogwarts Express and seeing so much of the landscape that she had ridden through just two days ago. But Minerva had less opportunity to press her nose up against the window, with all the additional distractions of the other passengers, this time not mostly boring, middle-aged Muggles, but magical young people like herself.

Some of them were older students, like the sixth- and seventh-years, blase about the journey, hardly glancing at the scenery and no longer amazed to be among peers. The third- through fifth-years were somewhat more enthusiastic, used to the journey but full of plans for the coming year, from getting to go to Hogsmeade for the very first time to taking their OWLs at the end of the year. The second-years were full of false bravado, glad to no longer be little first-years but still nervous and excited.

Minerva was in a car with other first-year girls. The seating wasn't assigned but it was easy to find her peers, tiny and nervous and excited compared to the rest of the students. Also, everywhere else was full. These weren't the only first-year girls of course but they were the ones that she got to know best that first day and for a long while after. Her mum had told her that she could make friendships that would last a lifetime, but the sad truth was that Mummy herself scarcely kept in contact with her school chums after she married a Muggle and they didn't.

The three other girls in the carriage were named Poppy Pomfrey, Charity Burbage, and Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. When Minerva heard the last girl introduce herself, she couldn't help gasping.

"I know," the girl said, rolling her eyes. "It's a horrid name, isn't it? I'm named after my godmother, Wilhelmina Tuft. She works in the Ministry and she's one of Mum's best friends. I'm sorry, that sounds like name-dropping, doesn't it? Well, I wish I could drop my name. You can call me Willie if you like."

Poppy giggled. "But that's a word for a boy's naughty bits!"

Now all four girls giggled, even Minerva, who wasn't usually a giggler. Then Minerva asked, "Does anyone ever call you Mina?", trying to sound casual, not as if she had to know because of a dream from when she was a little kid.

Wilhelmina shook her head. "No. But even if they did, that would be confusing, wouldn't it, if we're all going to be friends? Mina and Minnie."

"I prefer Minerva, it's more grown up."

"And it's the name of the Roman goddess of wisdom," said Charity quietly.

"You two must be going into Ravenclaw, clever as you are," said Wilhelmina, without the malice that one of the girls in the village would've put into it, if any of them had heard of Ravenclaw. Wilhelmina said it matter-of-factly, without jealousy either. "I'll probably be Hufflepuff. My dad's whole family is and it suits me." Hufflepuff was, as Mummy described it, for the salt-of-the-earth sort. You wouldn't boast about it, but there was nothing to be ashamed of in it either. And Wilhelmina did seem very Hufflepuffy.

"I could see myself sorted into any house, except Slytherin of course," said Poppy.

"Is it true what they say about them?" Charity whispered.

As if in answer to her question, two girls slid the compartment door open. One was tall and thin, with straight blonde hair and a disdainful expression, while the other was little and fat, with wavy brown hair and a sweet expression.

The tall girl said, "Excuse us, we're looking for Slytherins."

Minerva almost burst out laughing at the bluntness of the statement, and Poppy did giggle a little. The tall girl sneered at Poppy.

The short girl said, "We beg your pardon for intruding, but you looked like a jolly bunch of girls and I just wondered if any of you are hoping to be sorted into Slytherin House."

"Don't waste your time, Dolores. You can see they're probably all Muggleborns and Muggle-lovers."

Three of the four seated friends gasped at the tall girl's bigotry. But Charity said in her soft voice, "Yes, I'm a Mudblood."

Now Dolores giggled. "Oh, we don't like such an ugly word. And you can't help who your parents are, Dear. But obviously the Hat won't be putting you in Slytherin House, will it?" Minerva had never heard an eleven-year-old who sounded like a kindergarten teacher, and she listened in disgusted fascination.

"I'm Muggleborn, too," Poppy said.

"As am I," said Wilhelmina, even though she'd just told the three of them that her father's family were Hufflepuffs.

Minerva didn't want to lie, even in a good cause, so she said, "I'm half-blood, but I'm proud of my Muggle father."

"Of course you are, Dear," said Dolores condescendingly.

"Come on, we've wasted enough time," said the tall girl, sweeping out of the compartment. Dolores said, "See you girls later," and shut the door behind her.

"Does that answer your question, Charity?" Poppy asked and the four of them laughed together again, although they all knew that such prejudice wasn't funny really.


	8. 1 September 1947, Later

Mona was Sweet Sixteen, definitely been kissed, and flirting at a Labor Day picnic. Yet she felt sort of glum, with summer coming to an end. Yes, she was excited to soon be a junior in high school but, although she probably wouldn't admit it, she was sad that her big brother was going off to college. OK, it was better than if the War had lasted long enough to include him. He wouldn't die and he would come home on holidays, but it wouldn't be the same. The four of them were a family and they'd never been separated before. None of them had gone to Ilvermorny after all, and Babs probably wouldn't either. And, awful as Aunt Joan and Uncle Alexander were, at least they let their nieces and nephews stay together. They would be parting in a few days only because Archie had grown up.

Instead of saying, as ten-year-old Babs tearfully did, "I'm going to miss Archie so much!", Mona joked about how she hoped he would bring home his friends from college. Except she was entirely joking. She felt like she was mature for her age, not just physically but emotionally, after all she'd gone through. High school boys were fun but you couldn't really talk to them. College boys, based on what she'd seen in movies and magazines, were, at least some of them, sophisticated and intellectual. And some of them now were veterans going on the GI Bill, so they were even older, like 25 or 30. Not that she wanted to date a man double her age, but a 25-year-old would be nice. Old enough to know what he was doing.

Mona was still a virgin. She knew that it would be very easy to get a reputation if she did more than kiss. You weren't even supposed to neck unless you were going steady, and petting was for engaged couples. She hoped to get married someday, and every man expected his bride to be a virgin. She wanted to fall in love, but she also wanted to get away from Joan and Alexander. Not that she saw them that often, but they were in control of her life. She could stand up to a husband, but not to her aunt and uncle. And she knew how to sweet-talk boyfriends, so it was probably the same thing with a husband.

She didn't have a clear picture in her mind of who or what that husband would be. Older, yes, and maybe rich, or at least comfortable. Handsome and witty. But beyond that, he could be Muggle or wizard, blond or brunet. (Not red-haired. That'd be like Archie. And she didn't think two redheads should marry.) She'd dated various Muggle boys, of different types, from shy bookish ones to Archie's football teammates to boys who loved jazz.

She would've liked to date a wizard but she had no idea how to meet one. Oh, Aunt Joan probably could've introduced her to some but her aunt was definitely not a matchmaker. She acted as if Mona were a little girl like Babs. And anyway, anyone that Joan set her up with was bound to be horrible. Perhaps, if Mona got to go to college, or at least after her debut in a year or two, she'd meet some nice eligible wizards.

But she was pretty sure that the Rockwells were the only magic kids in this little town in Maine.

Anyway, it was a nice barbecue. She asked the boy at the grill for another wiener, with just a hint of innuendo, nothing to shock him, just enough to make him wonder. It was a tricky game to play but she was as good at it as Jughead was at football.

...

Minerva McGonagall had read about hatstalls but she'd never thought it would happen to her. There she was, sitting in the Great Hall, with the Sorting Hat placed on her head by Professor Dumbledore, everyone watching, and she was not yet sorted, as the minutes ticked by. Charity Burbage had indeed gone into Ravenclaw, and Wilhelmina Grubby-Plank of course was a Hufflepuff. Half of the alphabet had been sorted with ease, the other first-years now waiting impatiently for their turns, although Poppy Pomfrey did shoot Minerva a look of sympathy.

"Difficult, difficult, very difficult. Clever of course but also brave. An independent streak that rules out Hufflepuff," the Hat murmured so that only Minerva could hear. The only thing that could've made this more embarrassing was if the Hat's musings were broadcast like the Wireless, so that everyone could hear the dilemma. "Not that we haven't had brave Ravenclaws or clever Gryffindors of course. Not Slytherin I think, although you do like green."

It was scary how well the Hat knew her. Minerva had grown up learning to keep so much of herself hidden. She had to, magical in a very Muggle village. She didn't even tell her parents everything she knew or thought or felt. And her brothers were just little kids. On the Hogwarts Express, it'd been tempting to open up with the other girls, her new friends, to share thoughts, feelings, and backgrounds over Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, and the other sweets that they bought together, pooling their pocket money.

None of them came from rich families. They weren't poor either. Just middle class, although Poppy grew up in London, Charity in Bangor, and Wilhelmina on a farm in Shropshire, so their lives were very different from Minerva's. None of their fathers were ministers either. Willie's was a farmer of course, while Charity's did research, and Poppy's was a Healer at St. Mungo's Hospital.

Charity was an only child, while Wilhelmina had loads of brothers, older and younger, and Poppy was a middle sister. Two of them had owls but Charity, to Minerva's envy, had a cat. They didn't mock her for having a toad though. They were very nice girls and she hoped she'd end up in a house with at least one of them, if the Hat could ever decide.

Finally, it whispered, "I think you're meant to be a memorable Gryffindor." She blushed as she sighed with relief. She was perfectly content to be a Gryffindor, although it would've been nice to room with Charity and talk about books all the time. She wasn't sure what the Hat meant by "memorable." Memorably good or memorably incompetent or what?

The Hat proclaimed, "Gryffindor!", loudly enough for everyone to hear. Some of the students applauded and Professor Dumbledore beamed down at her from his great height. He was head of Gryffindor House, so that was another point in its favour. Perhaps they would get to chat outside of Transfiguration. There was so much she wanted to ask him about, although she was a little intimidated by his fame and skill. Well, she could probably pluck her courage up over the next seven years.

She made her way to the red & gold table, finding an empty seat next to a girl her age.

"Augusta Fawcett," the girl said, extending her hand to shake.

"Minerva McGonagall," she said, although of course the girl had just heard her name. Minerva shook hands and hoped hers wasn't too sweaty from the ordeal she'd just gone through.

"Yes, I know. That was quite an impressive hatstall, you know. Five and a half minutes!"

"Was it? It didn't feel that long." She didn't say that it felt like five and a half hours, or maybe five and a half years.  


"Yes, I timed it on my watch." Augusta dangled an old-fashioned gold pocket watch by its chain, as if she was going to hypnotise Minerva.

Minerva didn't know what to say, but the Hat had moved on to the next student, and then Poppy was after that boy, both getting sorted into Hufflepuff. Well, at least Wilhelmina and Poppy would be together. Minerva would have to make friends with Augusta and the other first-year Gryffindors. At least she'd see her friends from the train between classes, just not during curfew, which would be especially strict for first-years.


	9. April 20, 1948

Mina didn't celebrate her birthday that year. She knew that in Latin America, the fifteenth was a very important age to reach. She would have "la fiesta de quinceañera." In the United States of America, judging from the movies, she would have a Sweet Sixteen party the next year. But in Italy, there was nothing especially significant about either age. And even if there were, how could she feel like celebrating after what happened last week?

Mama was dead. Her sweet, loving mother had died in childbirth. And the baby was a stillborn boy.

Papa aged twenty years overnight. He blamed himself, even though they'd both wanted all their children. Babies were a gift from God, but God had taken Mama to Heaven.

Mina was angry at God sometimes, and she got into arguments with Nina, who said, as if she were much older than twelve, that God knew things they could never know and this was all part of his plan. Not that Nina didn't cry about Mama, but she was bowing down to God's will.

Sometimes Mina got up before dawn, even before she and Dina would make breakfast for everyone, and she'd just run and run through the streets of Gela. She didn't tell anyone. She knew it was dangerous to be out in the dark alone. Papa would've punished her if he'd known. Nine-year-old Rina would've teased that Mina was meeting a secret boyfriend. Dina probably knew, but she said nothing. She seemed to understand that Mina was trying to escape a life without Mama, to escape her own thoughts. She'd see Mina come into the kitchen, all sweaty, and just silently hand her a dish towel.

Mina wondered how Dina kept from falling apart. She'd been in the house during the labor. Lina, Mina, Nina, Rina, Sheena, Tina, and Nardo were sent to the movies after school, rather than church, since it was a weekday and services were shorter. They watched a triple feature: an American Western, a French comedy, and an Italian Neo-Realism film. A week later, Mina couldn't even remember the titles or the stars. She'd been distracted enough at the time, too worried about Mama, although Lina had tried to be optimistic.

When Dina came to get them, she didn't have to say anything. It was written all over her face. "Nonna!" Nardo cried, and Mina knew he meant his own grandmother, not theirs.

Nonna, their grandmother, spent her days weeping over her "bambina." Nonna was over 90, and Mama had been almost 50, but it was the little girl in dark brown pigtails that the ancient woman mourned. She never left her room now, and Mina was the one who brought her food to her, while Lina was the one who bathed her and changed her bedpan. Mina had expected to help look after her new brother or sister, but there would be no more babies in the house, not till Lina got married. There were and would always be nine Romano sisters, and Mina would eternally be the middle child.

Ina came home from Palermo, but San Francisco was too far away for Gina to return from. She did place a very expensive long-distance call to the church, so she could talk to Papa and some of her sisters. 

She spent the whole time crying and screaming.

"She's the one who should've been an actress," Ina said when she passed the phone to Lina. Ina's mourning was quieter. That was the only joke she made during her visit.

As for Sheena and Tina, they were so little and they didn't really understand what had happened. They hardly understood normal childbirth, so a birth where the baby was born dead and the mother died was unimaginable to them. And they were only six and three, so they couldn't be told much of course.

After so long of nothing, not even War, really changing their lives, everything had been shattered by God claiming a quiet, sweet, pious woman, leaving her family devastated. Mina didn't know if she could ever forgive Him.

...

Mona loved the applause and the laughter. She had the lead in the school play. She was Penelope Sycamore in _You Can't Take It with You_. She didn't mind that she was playing a middle-aged woman. She thought "Penny" was great, an eccentric mother who became a playwright when a typewriter was accidentally delivered to the house. Jenny Treadwell acted like  she had the female lead, as Penny's engaged younger daughter Alice, but Mona knew that it would be the crazy characters, not the "normal" ones that the audience would remember.

Mona had done a little acting before in high school. It felt like a natural progression from the roles she played in real life, from stupid, intimidated niece to stylish yet carefree subdeb. But this was her first lead. Corny and Babs were in the audience, cheering her on, and when they came backstage afterwards to congratulate her on opening night, she saw that Jughead was with them, having come home from college for the weekend to surprise her. She was equally pleased that Aunt Joan and Uncle Alexander had missed the play.

"Maybe your parents would've come to see it if you had the lead," Jenny cattily said.

Mona could've easily been catty back, but she was too happy, so she only said, "I didn't really expect to see my parents tonight." Although in a way, she felt like Mama and Daddy had been looking down from Heaven, like in the highest balcony.

When they headed out to Jughead's jalopy in the high school parking lot, Babs asked, "Are you going to be an actress now? Are you going to go to Hollywood?"

Her brothers laughed, so she glared at them, before saying, "Well, maybe New York. I'd love to be on Broadway." It would be one way to escape.

Jughead shook his head. "You know that Aunt Joan would never approve. She thinks actresses are next to—" He broke off, looking at their not yet eleven-year-old sister. "Ladies of the evening."

"What if they do matinees?" Babs asked, and her older siblings laughed.

Then Corny changed the subject to questions about the sets and lighting.

...

Charity's three best friends, listened in fascination as she told them about her cat, Mittens, being "with kitten," as she put it. "I don't know who the father is," she whispered.

"I hope it's not Puffball," Poppy said with a giggle.

Puffball was Dolores Umbridge's cat. Dolores had indeed been sorted into Slytherin, as had her best friend Seraphina Selwyn, the stuck-up blonde. Dolores was much friendlier, but Charity and her friends knew that Dolores would be horrified if Puffball had sired kittens with a Muggleborn's cat. (Charity was actually Half-Blood but she continued to pretend otherwise, just to defy the Slytherins. Minerva admired her quiet courage.)

"Well, I suppose we'll know when the kittens are born," Minerva said.

"What are you going to do with the kittens, Charity?" Poppy asked.

"On the farm, we drowned what we can't keep," Willie said matter-of-factly.

The other girls shuddered, although they knew that that was one of the facts of life.

"I'd like to give away as many as I can," Charity said. "Minerva, you like cats, don't you?"

"Yes, but I can't have a cat at home. The Muggles wouldn't understand." The last words were said very quietly. She didn't like to badmouth Muggles, because she didn't want to sound like a Slytherin, but her friends understood. She'd revealed some of the prejudice of her village, and how she was in a difficult position because her father was a Presbyterian minister.

"What if you kept it at school?" Charity suggested.

"Yes, Hagrid might look after it during the summer and holidays," Willie said.

"Willie fancies Rubeus," Poppy teased.

"I do not!" Willie exclaimed, although she was blushing.

Rubeus Hagrid was a Hogwarts expulsion, which was a very unusual thing to be. He was also rumoured to be half-giant, which was an extremely unusual thing to be. He was over seven feet tall at nineteen or twenty years old, and still growing. Back when he was in his third year, he adopted an Acromantula. When a girl was attacked and killed by a strange monster, the Ministry suspected the Acromantula, which Hagrid helped escape. Because nothing was proven and because Hagrid was underage, he wasn't sent to Azkaban prison, but he was expelled from Hogwarts and his wand was destroyed.

Wonderful Professor Dumbledore stood up for Hagrid, knowing that the boy would have no future in the Muggle or magical world. (And if he was half-giant, he would be regarded as a runt half-breed, and the full giants would probably kill him.) Dumbledore convinced Headmaster Dippet to let Hagrid be Assistant Gamekeeper to old Ogg. So Hagrid got to stay at Hogwarts, just not as a student.

Ogg was cranky and seemed to despise the students, although he was good with creatures. Hagrid was kind-hearted to everyone and everything, not bitter as he might've been considering how life had treated him. (He was an orphan as well.)

"Well, we can ask," Minerva said, partly to spare Willie from Poppy's teasing.

So the four girls went to Hagrid's hut at the edge of the Forbidden Hut. He greeted them with a cheery hello and an offer of fudge. Willie in particular had a sweet tooth, but they all liked fudge. Unfortunately, Hagrid, although a young bachelor who had to look after himself, was not a very good cook. After one bite, Minerva politely said she didn't want to spoil her appetite for dinner in the Great Hall, and she'd save her piece for afters. Charity and Poppy chimed in that they would do the same, but Willie determinedly continued on with her piece, even though chewing it meant that she couldn't contribute much to the conversation.

Charity explained about Mittens's kittens and how she'd like to give one to Minerva, who couldn't keep a cat at home.

"Would you look after Minnie's for her, Mr. Hagrid?" Poppy said. "Just during summers and holidays."

"Well, I don't really like cats," Hagrid said apologetically, glancing at Mittens, who Charity had brought along. And then he gave a sneeze that was like a breeze. "Sorry," he said, taking out a polka-dot handkerchief the size of a tablecloth.

"What if the kitten stayed outside and Hagrid just left food out for it?" Charity suggested.

Minerva wanted to say that that wouldn't be enough. Kittens needed love and attention. Then she thought of this kitten, which wasn't even born yet, as hers and she didn't want "her kitten" drowned. "Please, Mr. Hagrid," she said in a wheedling tone she never used even with her own parents.

"Well, if it would help."

All four girls cheered, although Wilhelmina had trouble getting her mouth unstuck from the fudge. Then Hagrid sneezed again, this time hard enough to shake the hut, so the four girls left hurriedly, thanking Hagrid profusely on their way out.

"I can see why you like him, Willie."

"Shut up, Poppy," Willie muttered, and the other two girls looked at each other and smiled.


	10. July 4, 1948

Mona was seventeen and in love. Oh, she'd thought maybe she was in love before, but those were just passing infatuations. This time she'd met a wonderful young man and he loved her, too. She ignored Corny's warnings that this was probably just a summer romance. Her kid brother was only fifteen and hardly dated. And she ignored Jughead's warnings that Aunt Joan would break it up as soon as she found out. Mona didn't expect Joan to find out. And she'd run away if she had to.

When Mona decided to do summer stock, she wasn't looking for romance. Oh, maybe a few harmless flirtations. But she mostly wanted to polish her acting skills. So she took the bus to the big city of Auburn, hoping that the name would be a good omen for her, although admittedly her hair was more pure red than brownish-red. There was a touring theater group there that summer and they were recruiting locals for supporting roles. Mona figured Eastham was only an hour away (half an hour by car) and that was local enough.

She did her best at the audition but only got a small role as a French maid. She hoped that her costume would get her the attention that her two forgettable lines wouldn't. She was glad she'd taken French in junior year. Her vocabulary wasn't strong but her accent was good, at least good enough for this part.

They rehearsed her scene only once a week, but Mona showed up every day, finding ways to help out, like with costumes and sets. It was partly to get out of the house and partly to soak up the atmosphere of "the theatah." But soon it was mostly so she could watch the lead, a boy of seventeen who looked and sounded older, with that deep, resonant voice of his.

James was tall and muscular, with short but curly dark hair and big navy-blue eyes. He also had light brown skin. He was a Negro. Aunt Joan most definitely would not approve of him, although it was probably his being an actor that would bother her most.

The first thing he said to her offstage was "Bon jour, Yvette." His accent was even better than hers.

She reverted to her Texan twang for the first time in four years. "Mona. Mona Rockwell."

"James Jones." He gave her his hand to shake.

"Can I call you Jim or Jimmy?"

"I prefer James."

"Then James it is."

"You're a long way from home, aren't you, Mona?" he said as they let go.

"So are you, James."

He chuckled. "Yes. I was born in Mississippi but grew up in Michigan."

"I'm from Texas but I'm transplanted to Maine." She shifted into her New England accent, making him smile.

That was all they got acquainted that day, since he had to get back to rehearsal, but they chatted again and again, until one day when he drove her home to Eastham and offered to drive her back to Auburn the next morning. She of course said yes.

They were going to spend all of today, her birthday, together, ending with watching the fireworks along the water in Freeport, another half hour's drive. It was a Sunday, so there was no rehearsal. She was looking forward to spending so much time together. And if he wanted to become more physically intimate than the hand-holding and kissing they'd indulged in, she was willing to. She was too in love to care about her reputation.

...

Minerva missed Midnight, even more than she missed her friends and favourite teachers. She knew her kitten's name wasn't the most original but when Charity let her choose first, it was the raven-black kitten who met her eyes with its navy-blue ones. And for two months they'd been almost inseperable. Well, the kitten had to stay in the dormitory with the other pets while Minerva was in class or at meals, but otherwise, Minerva never went anywhere without the little cat. Even before it was weaned from Mittens, Minerva doted on it.

Most of the other kittens had found homes, with students whose parents wouldn't mind them having a pet, or an extra pet in some cases. Two of the six had to be set free in Hogsmeade village when Charity caught the train home. She worried and cried over them the entire journey, but none of her friends blamed her. Even Willie understood that Charity was too soft-hearted to drown them, and they all hoped the two kittens would survive on their own.

"Or maybe a shopkeeper will take them in," Poppy said optimistically.

Minerva wanted to cry a little herself, leaving Midnight behind. She trusted Hagrid to feed her kitten but that didn't make separation any easier. And what if Midnight wandered into the Forbidden Forest and was killed by one of the creatures who lived there? Even if Midnight survived the summer, Minerva would miss the tiny furry thing, and her toad was no substitute.

And here, after a couple weeks at home, she kept thinking of how, if only she lived somewhere else, she could freely practice magic and cuddle with her kitten. It seemed like forever till she'd be a grown-up witch. But there was nothing she could do but count down the weeks till she returned to Hogwarts. She was glad to see her family again, her brothers taller and less bratty than she remembered, her parents both eager to hear about school. She didn't mention Midnight and instead focused on her schoolwork. Even her father seemed proud of her marks and progress, uncomfortable though magic sometimes made him.

She wasn't able to do any spells at home, not as an under-age witch. She could read about magic though, and that helped a little, even if she wished she could again have Midnight curled up as a tiny dozing ball of fluff beside her.

...

"I love you, Mona."

"I love you, James."

"I know this is sudden, and we're so young. But will you marry me?"

"Yes, yes!"

She didn't care how or when it would happen. She just knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this beautiful, talented, kind man. 

...

"What's this about, Lina?" Mina was very puzzled. Why had her sister taken her to the graveyard if not to visit Mama?

"I need to tell you something and you must swear to keep it a secret."

"Of course." She wondered what sort of secret her shy, quiet sister could have. She did recognize that they had more privacy there in the cemetery, even on a Sunday evening, than they'd have at home, with Nina, Rina, Sheena, Tina, and Nardo around.

Lina sat down on a bench and Mina joined her. Then Lina whispered, "Luigi proposed!"

"Oh, Lina!" She gave her littlest big sister a big hug. Luigi was as shy and quiet as Lina, so even though they'd been courting for over a year, Mina didn't expect him to ever pop the question. Well, maybe someday if Papa nudged him a little, but Lina was still only eighteen and there wasn't that much of a hurry, especially not while they were still in mourning for Mama. Mina let go. "Are you going to wait a few months?"

Lina shook her head.

"Oh, Lina, you're not eloping, are you?" That was wildly romantic, if not a bit like Lina. Mina could see Ina doing it, maybe with an actor or director.

"No, I had to tell him no."

"But why?" Mina felt like crying. "Don't you love him?"

Lina nodded. "But I can't get married. Not while the family needs me."

"Don't be silly. Dina takes care of us, and I help. And Nina is twelve, not a little girl anymore."

"Dina has her own son to take care of. And Rina, Sheena, and Tina are still small. And, yes, I know you're a big help, you always have been. But it's my responsibility as the oldest unmarried daughter, not counting Ina, to stay home until the little ones have grown up."

Mina knew that Lina meant that Ina would never give up her glamorous career as an aspiring actress to come home and do housework, especially since she'd done hardly any when she lived at home. "But are you going to be an old maid? By the time Tina's your age, you'll be thirty-three!"

Lina smiled a little. "I don't think I'd wait that long. But maybe five or ten years."

"Will Luigi wait that long?"

Lina sighed. "He said he will, but I'm not going to hold him to it. He's a man and men have urges."

Mina grimaced. "Is that what he said?"

"No, that's what the nuns say, and they're right. Luigi knows I'm a good girl, and he wants to get married. But if it's not to me, it'll be to someone else. Someone who doesn't have my family responsibilities." 

Mina wanted to argue but she knew that Lina could be stubborn in her own way. "Well, I'm happy for you that you got asked. And sad that you can't say yes."

"Me, too," Lina said, and then cried on her biggest little sister's shoulder.

...

As James drove her home to Pines Cottage, Mona wondered what would happen next. James hadn't gotten fresh with her, even though she wanted him to. She had the feeling that he wanted to wait till they were married, which was fine with her, since she thought that would be soon. Elopement did seem the best plan. When summer stock was over, they could drive to Vermont, where 16- and 17-year-olds could get married under certain circumstances. Then she could travel around with James. She looked forward to life on the road, life onstage. Maybe they'd settle in New York after awhile. It would be an exciting, glamorous, romantic life.

The question was, should she say goodbye to her brothers and Babs? It felt wrong to leave without saying anything, but she wouldn't want Aunt Joan to interrogate them to find out her whereabouts. She was still underage in the Muggle world, although of age in the magical. Not that she felt very witchy lately. Without Grandma and their parents to guide them and inspire them, none of them had been keeping up with their spells like they should. Maybe Mona could teach herself more after she was married. She had the feeling that James would accept her more than most Muggles would. He had imagination and an open mind. But she'd probably wait till after they were safely married before she said anything. The habit of not telling Muggles was too strong in her, and much as she loved and trusted him, she knew she hadn't really known him that long and she wouldn't want to frighten him off before she was more sure of him.  


She thought of asking James in, at least introducing him to Jughead, Corny, and Babs. They wouldn't have to know how serious it was, but she hated having the people she loved not even know each other.  


"Would you like to come in for some lemonade?"  


"That would be nice, thank you."  


They got out of the car and he escorted her up the steps to the porch. Then he kissed her and she wondered if her siblings were watching. She knew they would have a lot of questions.  


"Let's go in."  


All three of her siblings were sitting in the living room, as was very unfortunately Aunt Joan. Mona froze in terror, and then Joan pointed her wand at James and said, "Petrificus Totalus!" James had a mildly curious expression on his face, as if wondering who everyone was but not aware of the doom in the room. He still looked so handsome, and indeed Aunt Joan said, "Well, I can see why a girl who's all boobs and no brains would choose a young man like this."  


"Leave him alone!" Mona cried.  


"I'm not harming him. Yet."  


"You told!" Mona accused her siblings.  


Jughead shook his head. "It wasn't us, Monie."  


"Yes, they've been remarkably stubborn. But Mrs. Henderson fortunately was more cooperative."  


Mona was angry at the housekeeper, but not terribly surprised. After all, Joan paid Mrs. Henderson's salary, and probably not just to cook and clean.  


"She says you've been seeing this Muggle actor for weeks. Is that true?"  


"What if it is? That's not a crime!" Not in New England anyway. 

"I didn't say it was. But it is very foolish, especially if it leads to marriage."  


"What do you care who I marry? You don't even like me."  


"How can you say that? I'm your aunt. I love you."  


Mona couldn't help scowling.  


"And to prove it, I'm sending you to Paris."  


"Paris, Texas?" Babs exclaimed.  


Joan chuckled. "No, France. I don't think going back to Texas would be good for any of you. 'Mademoiselle Yvette' needs polishing, at a finishing school for nice young witches. Then she can have her debut and meet suitable, eligible young wizards."  


Part of Mona wanted that. It would be a different sort of romantic, glamorous, exciting life. If she'd never fallen in love with James, she would be thrilled to go. But she couldn't leave him.  


"I don't want Monie going to France! I want her to stay here in Maine."  


Babs's protest made Mona feel guilty for wanting to elope. But Mona would've tried to visit Pines Cottage sometimes, or had Babs visit her in New York when Babs was a teenager.  


"But, My Dear, you're not going to be in Pines Cottage yourself."  


They all stared at their aunt. What was she talking about?  


"Where are you taking Babs?" Corny demanded.  


"Where else but to Ilvermorny in the Fall?"  


"I never got my letter," Babs said quietly. It had been as painful for her as for the rest of them to be overlooked, although Mona hadn't been as surprised by this fourth rejection of their family. She'd told Babs that they didn't need a fancy magical school full of snobs, but she also knew how much Babs wanted to go, as much as Mona had wanted to six years ago.  


"Oh, didn't I tell you? It was sent to the mansion by mistake. I kept meaning to bring it over but I've been so busy. Here you go, Dear." She handed over a crumpled envelope, which did indeed have the Ilvermorny seal, the house symbols inside a four-leaf clover.  


Babs carefully opened the envelope and started to read aloud:  


_"Dear Barbara Rockwell,_

_It is our pleasure to welcome you to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardy...."_

Mona felt a mix of emotions. One, she thought the letter might be a fake, although obviously Joan couldn't expect to keep the hoax going past September 1st, and Mona couldn't see what Joan's motive would be to perpetuate it, beyond to break a little girl's heart. Two, if it was real, what was her motive for holding it back? Had she waited for the best/worst moment to present it? Was she possibly not going to give it to Babs and then changed her mind? Three, did she have the other Ilvermorny letters? Maybe not Archie's, since he wasn't very magical, and his rejection had come long before Joan started interfering directly in their lives. But maybe she had somehow gotten ahold of Mona's, and the timing of Corny's eleventh birthday in relation to Joan's arrival looked suspicious in retrospect. Mona would probably never know the truth, but she hated her aunt more than ever.

And meanwhile, there stood Mona's poor fiance, literally frozen in place, and it was all her fault for getting him mixed up in her life. "What are you going to do to James?"

"Mr. Jones? Well, that depends on you, doesn't it, Darling?"

The "choice" was clear. She could defy her aunt or she could give in. "If I do what you want, you'll let him go? Unharmed?"

"Well, I might need to apply a little memory charm. We can't have him pining for you while you're in France, can we?"

Mona exhaled loudly. She hated the idea of James forgetting her, forgetting their love. But it was probably better for him. She knew she would never forget him, or forgive her aunt.

"So you're just leaving me here all alone in Pines Cottage?" Cornball demanded. "You're breaking up the famly?"

"Oh, that reminds me. I think fifteen is a good age for military school. Discipline those restless hormones."

Archie snorted and Mona would've, too, if she weren't so angry. Cornelius was the very opposite of a teenage hoodlum who needed to be sent off to military school. He was a quiet, obedient boy, although still somewhat of a daydreamer.

"What if I don't want to go?"

"You just said that you'll be lonely for your sisters if you stay here. I'm doing you a favor."

Corny looked like he wanted to say something, but Archie shot him a warning look. Mona bit her own tongue. She wasn't happy about any of this, and she couldn't help being envious that Babs was going to Ilvermorny when none of the rest of them got to. But she knew by now that Joan was determined to control their lives, and the four years they'd spent mostly together in Eastham were a test, a test Mona failed. She felt terribly guilty, but there was nothing she could do but try to be obedient, at least for awhile.

"Will you at least see that James remembers his lines?" she now asked.

"Oh, I would never interfere with his acting career," Joan said in mock offense, and Mona had the feeling that that would be one form of revenge if Mona ever tried to revive this halted romance.


	11. August 20, 1949

"Tell us more, Ina!" sixteen-year-old Mina insisted when her actress sister Flooed home for a visit from Stromboli, and the set of _Stromboli_. She had a small role, with a few lines, as a peasant girl in the great director Roberto Rossellini's new movie, although she'd had to dye her hair black to not distract from the leading lady, the lovely Swede Ingrid Bergman.

Dina and Lina pretended they were above gossip, and thirteen-year-old Nina looked like she was shocked, but Mina knew that they were just as eager for details as she was.

"Well, everyone knows they're having an affair, but we're forbidden to say anything to reporters of course. And it can't go beyond this room. I haven't even told Carla."

"But they're both married!" Nina exclaimed.

Ina shrugged. "That's show biz."

"Are you having an affair?"

Ten-year-old Rina's four older sisters scolded her for eavesdropping in the closet. She'd given herself away as usual, since her curiosity was stronger than her stealth. Dina sent her downstairs to look after Sheena and Tina. (Eight-year-old Nardo was playing baseball with the neighborhood boys. He always said there were too many girls at home.)

"So are you?" Mina asked.

Ina looked offended. "I'm a virgin!"

Mina could imagine what sarcastic Gina would say if she were there. Ina was a good enough actress that Mina couldn't always tell when she was lying. And she was twenty-two now and had even been to Rome a couple times.

"What if the movie gets banned?" Lina asked. "Won't you be sinful by association?"

"Will you still get paid?" Mina asked, making her sisters laugh despite themselves.

"There's nothing scandalous about the movie itself. It's about a young married woman and a volcano."

"Does she throw herself into it?"

"Go downstairs, Rina!" Dina scolded gently.

They could hear Rina sighing on the other side of the door and making the sounds of footsteps down the stairs, although she might've just been pretending.

"Anyway," Ina continued, "he's had affairs before, like with Anna Magnani, and this will probably come to nothing, but you know Ingrid Bergman's image is very pure, so he's not doing her any favors." 

"She must be very much in love," Lina said softly, and Mina wondered if she was thinking of how she'd given up Luigi last year in order to help with the family. Lina never talked about him and so Mina didn't know if she had regrets.

Ina shrugged. "Who can tell with actresses? It's all make-believe, isn't it?"

"So why should we believe you?" Mina asked.

Ina pulled one of Mina's pigtails and said in English, "You're a sharp cookie, Kiddo."

...

"Excuse me, Miss, may I borrow your tongue?"

Mona turned and looked at the tall, handsome, distinguished-looking young man who stood behind her on line at the post office. "I beg your pardon?"

He held up an envelope. "It's hot out and I'm too parched to lick a stamp."

"What makes you think I'm not hot, too?"

"You look so cool and comfortable in that summer dress."

Mona blushed a little. She was out of practice at flirtation, ever since she got engaged. Walter Nordstrom was a rich young wizard, a couple years older than herself, a college man. They met at her coming-out ball at her aunt and uncle's mansion in the spring. She'd finished finishing school and flown back to Maine with a smattering of French and a polish she never would've gotten in Eastham. Her aunt thoroughly approved of Walter, but Mona nonetheless liked him. He was a perfectly suitable suitor, but he did have a sense of humor, which was important to her. Their engagement happened as quickly as the one to James, but with much smoother progress. They were going to marry at the end of the month.

Part of Mona wished she weren't marrying at 18. She wished she could go to college like Archie. She wanted to take classes like Psychology and Drama, and be serenaded by fraternity boys. But that was just a dream. And marrying at 18 meant that Aunt Joan would have less control over her life. Walter didn't seem like he'd be bossy or cruel. And maybe, since he was a wizard, she could practice magic at home. Uncle Alexander would give her away, although he wasn't particularly fatherly. She wished Archie could, but he and Corny were going to be ushers. Twelve-year-old Babs was going to be the tiniest and sweetest of her bridesmaids. Jenny Treadwell was the cattiest of them, and Mona didn't want to include her, but Joan liked Jenny and had insisted. The other bridesmaids were a mix of girls Mona knew from high school, girls she knew from the finishing school, and girl she didn't know at all but whose families were business acquaintances of Uncle Alexander or otherwise well-connected.

Another reason why Mona was marrying at 18 was she wanted to be able to legally and morally make love. Sending her to Paris hadn't exactly weakened her longings, romantic and otherwise. Walter didn't want to do more than neck, because he respected her, but that would change after they were married.

And then, after a year or two, they'd start on their family. Mona wanted a half dozen kids. She'd like growing up in a big family, although she wished that they hadn't been separated. She hoped that she and Walter wouldn't die young and they'd be able to see their children grow up and have children of their own. It hurt that Mama and Daddy wouldn't be at her wedding day. Granny was invited, but she said that she was too old to travel. Mona thought that she didn't want to face Joan. Well, maybe Mona and Walter could take a trip to Texas sometime, see Granny and everything that was left from Mona's childhood. Meanwhile, she wrote to Granny, which was why she was at the post office that day.

"So may I borrow it?" The young man held out a stamp.

Blushing, she took the stamp and gave it a couple quick licks. Then she put it on the envelope he held out in his other hand.

"Thank you. You don't happen to be looking for work as a secretary, do you?"

"No, I can't type or take shorthand."

"Too bad. Mine is quitting to get married and I'll need a replacement."

Mona hesitated and then said, "I'm getting married."

"Oh, congratulations! When's the happy day?"

"The 31st." Babs would be going back to Ilvermorny the next day. Mona wished she could see her off, but maybe next year.

"Ah, and you're sending off wedding invitations, of course."

She laughed. "No, those were sent weeks ago. You can't just throw a big wedding together at the last minute."

"Oh, it's a big wedding. I think if I ever get married, I'd elope."

She thought of wanting to elope with James. "Well, there's good and bad to be said on both sides."

"Of course. And it's just a personal preference."

And then, although Mona was practically a married woman, she said, "Perhaps we could discuss your other preferences over dinner tonight."

He smiled. "I'd like that."

...

It was another quiet summer at home for Minerva. She missed her friends and Midnight of course, but in some ways she missed her schoolwork even more. First year had been the basics, but second year they had really started to learn things beyond how to wave a wand and stir a potion. She was really looking forward to her third year. Not only would there be Hogsmeade weekends, but she'd be able to take new classes, like Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. She wasn't sure about Divination, which Mum said was a very woolly, unreliable subject. She might take Muggle Studies, to get the magical perspective, but she felt like she already knew enough about Muggles and the class was more useful to people like Pomona who spent most of their time around witches and wizards.

She had to decide by tomorrow. Her mum would summon an owl and tie a letter to its leg, at midnight, so none of the villagers would see. Dad worried someone might spot her and think the worst, but Mum said she'd cast Obliviate if she had to. That worried Dad even more, but he admitted that there was no other way around this. They couldn't send a letter by Muggle post, as that would take weeks to arrive, which had been fine when Minerva got her Hogwarts letter, since she had almost a year before she caught the Express. Owl post was faster and more efficient, and it was their only option this time.

She sent letters to her friends by Muggle post and that was how they responded, although sometimes they put too many or too few stamps or wrote the addresses too large or too small, slowing down the process further. There was a random unpredictability to this correspondence, which was frustrating at times, but made it even more special when she did hear from them. She enjoyed hearing what they were up to, even with the delays, from Willie's stories of summer on the farm to Charity and Pomona's stories of their fathers' work. Minerva mostly wrote about what she'd learned from rereading _Hogwarts: A History_ and her other books, although she would sometimes write about her family or the weather.

When she got her period for the first time, in late August, she thought about writing to her friends about it, but she decided not to. When Willie got hers, she told them in the girls' loo on the second day. It was something they all shared, as Willie whispered details to them. The other three had mixed feelings about getting theirs someday. It was part of growing up, of course, but it also seemed a great inconvenience, and not something that magic could help with.

The four of them agreed that none of them, at least at this point, could imagine getting married and having children.

"I want to work at St. Mungo's," Pomona said, "and that would be harder if I had babies, although I like babies."

"My family expect me to be a farmer's wife and have a dozen children," Willie said, "but I don't know about that."

"I want to be a scholar," Charity said, and Minerva nodded.

"Well, it's all a long way off," Minerva said.

Even dating wasn't something they gave much thought to. That was for sixth- and seventh-years. You never even saw second-years holding hands, although crushes were common. It was like going to the movies, if you lived in the Muggle world. You "fell in love" with an unapproachable star but you of course would never touch him. The boys they knew were much more accessible, but they were crude rather than glamorous. Even Willie's crush on Hagrid wasn't something practical. He was much older and much, much taller.

Minerva decided that she'd wait till the Express left on the 1st before she'd tell her friends about her period. As far as she knew, Charity and Pomona hadn't got theirs yet, but Minerva was the oldest, almost fourteen. She was glad she wasn't the last to get it and she was glad that Mum saw it as a symbol of her getting closer to becoming a full-grown witch. But having it on the hottest day of the year in Caithness wasn't exactly comfortable.


	12. December 31, 1949

Mina's first kiss was at midnight, as the '40s came to an end. His name was Giovanni and she'd known him for years. He was part of the group who'd gone to the movies and parties together for years. She wasn't sure if the kiss meant he was her boyfriend now or if it was just that they were standing next to each other at a party, and comfortable enough together that they could kiss. It was a light kiss, not like a movie kiss, but at least she was finally kissed. Papa would probably disapprove if he knew, but some of her friends had gone further, even necking! But Lina, who was her chaperone, although only 19, smiled indulgently at her afterwards, so Mina decided it was OK. Giovanni thanked her afterwards.

Mina sort of remembered the '30s ending, although she'd been only six then and not allowed to stay up till midnight, like her three oldest sisters. Dina was 18 then and engaged, but Ina got to stay up that late, although only 12, as she was spoiled. Rina was the baby then. It seemed like a very long time ago.

Mina tried to imagine what her life would be like in ten years, when the '50s would end. Presumably she'd marry Giovanni, or some other boy she grew up with. She'd have three or four kids by the time she was 26. She'd probably still live on Sicily. It was actually harder to imagine her sisters' lives, although maybe Ina would either be a successful actress or she'd have retired by then, since she'd be past 30. Most likely, they'd all, except for Dina and Gina of course, be married with kids, living close by, visiting and gossiping together. That would be nice, still connected even as adults. She hoped Nonna would still be alive. But then, who would've thought Mama would be gone by the end of the '40s?

Mina still missed her mother, a year and eight months later. She wasn't as angry at God these days though. She tried to see the good in life, and to believe that Mama was at peace. But she did miss her. Still, she knew that their family wasn't the only one to have lost people in the '40s, mostly due to the War. It just made Italian families even more close-knit. That was what didn't change despite the passage of time.

...

Minerva was allowed to stay up till midnight, listening to the Wireless with her parents, but not her brothers, although Malcolm was a Hogwarts student now, a first-year. He'd been Sorted into Gryffindor, not surprisingly. She liked having him around more than she'd expected. They had their own lives, different classes, different friends, but it was nice to see him in the common room and the Great Hall. He wasn't a tag-along kid brother. And she enjoyed being able to give him advice, like, "Don't be intimidated by Professor Dumbledore's fame. He's very approachable and he'll answer questions, in and out of class." Malcolm wasn't as good at or as interested in Transfiguration as she was, or even as much as she'd been two years before, but he seemed to appreciate what she had to say.

One of Willie's many brothers was also a first-year, and two of her older brothers were still attending Hogwarts, so the Grubbly-Planks were well-represented. Poppy's older sister went there, but her younger sister hadn't yet started. And Charity was an only child.

The four friends had promised to think of each other at midnight and wish for the '50s to be wonderful for all of them. None of them clearly remembered New Year's Eve of 1939. Minerva had been four, the others three. Looking back, Minerva now realized that the War had already started by then, and she couldn't really remember a time before the War. In some ways, things hadn't changed much since War's end, the Muggle War anyway. Rationing still continued throughout Britain. The main difference was that bombs no longer fell on London. As for the British wizarding world, Willie's mother's friend Wilhelmina Tuft was now Minister for Magic, and she ran on a platform of peace and prosperity, but a year or so into her term, that promise was only true in comparison to her predecessor, Leonard Spencer-Moon.

Minerva tried to imagine the '50s. Things would probably improve, for Muggles and magical folk alike, as long as no more wars or depressions came along. Minerva would be 24 in a decade's time, long done with Hogwarts. She tried to imagine herself married, not necessarily with children yet, but it was still hard to see. She'd likely be working, but she didn't know where. Probably the Ministry, although she might like to teach at Hogwarts. She'd probably have a clearer vision after her OWL year, but that was fifth year, and she had just finished her fall term for third year. (She'd decided on Arithmancy and Runes for her new classes. Her mother had warned her of the perils of too heavy a courseload.)

For now, it was good to be home for the holidays, wearing the scarf that her mum had knitted for her, eating some of the fudge that her dad had made for everyone. (He was a much better baker than Hagrid.) And when midnight came, she wished for health and happiness for her friends and family.

...

As Mona kissed her husband, before, at, and after midnight as the year, and indeed the decade, came to an end, she thought of how lucky she was that the year, if not the decade, had turned out as it had. 

She'd come very close to marrying a man she didn't love, simply because it seemed like the right thing to do. Doing "the wrong thing" had been the better path.

It was wrong to go on a date with another man when it was less than two weeks till her wedding. It was definitely wrong to sleep with him that night. And it was wrong to end the engagement by accusing her fiance of flirting at the wedding rehearsal. And it was wrong to elope with the other man when she found out she was pregnant. But all this wrongness had added up to Happily Ever After bliss.

Sometimes she felt guilty about Walter. Maybe he and Jenny had been flirting a little, but it was harmless. Still, it was enough to serve as an excuse. Walter had disappeared from her life, much to Joan's disappointment. Her aunt had tried to set her up with other eligible young men, but by then Mona was hopelessly in love with Robert Robinson. He was a Muggle, so Joan would never approve. But Mona hoped to keep the affair secret until she turned twenty-one. She knew that there was a legacy from her parents that she would come into then. Archie hadn't yet come of age for his, but he was counting down the months till his twenty-first birthday. Mona planned to do the same during her longer wait.

However, as the weeks passed, she began to suspect that she'd become pregnant from her first time. She was scared. She hated to think how her aunt would react. And she worried that Robert would tell her that this was just a fling and he didn't want to be responsible for her and their child. She would have no one to turn to if Joan kicked her out and Robert didn't want her anymore. Perhaps she could move back to Texas, but what if Granny was ashamed of her?

She had no one to confide in. She had many friends, but none who knew her real self, witch and all, except the girls from finishing school and they'd probably be shocked that she was pregnant by a Muggle, and not even a rich Muggle. Babs was only twelve and away at Ilvermorny. Mona would tell her brothers if she had to, but she'd rather not. Archie would probably offer to beat Robert up and Mona didn't want that. And Corny was still kind of innocent at sixteen and he'd probably be shocked.

She knew she couldn't see a doctor in the little town of Eastham. So she took the bus to Auburn, trying not to think of how she'd met James there the summer before last. She wore a ring on her finger and gave a false name with a "Mrs." in front. The doctor confirmed the pregnancy, and Mona had the feeling he knew she was 18 and single, but she kept up the charade, even as he said, "I'm sure everything will be all right, My Dear." She didn't even cry much on the bus home.

She did cry in Robert's arms when she told him that night.

"Of course I'll marry you, Mo!" he whispered as he held her.

"Oh, Robert!"

"I'll talk to your father as soon as I can."

She shook her head. "My aun— parents would never approve."

"Is there something wrong with me? I'm a war veteran and a promising young businessman. And I'm not bad-looking or stupid." He was smiling, as if he didn't think there was anything to object to. He didn't even know what "Muggles" were, let alone that he was one.

"They'll think I'm too young. They'd probably rather send me to a home for unwed mothers."

"Rather than marriage?" He looked shocked.

She nodded. She almost told him about herself, her family, but she couldn't risk losing him now. "Let's just elope."

"Well, all right, if that's what you want."

So they did, and then they moved into a little apartment in Manhattan. She realized that while she was ready for the romantic side of being a young bride, she had only the vaguest idea how to cook or clean. It wouldn't have mattered with Walter, since he was rich enough that they would've had servants. But, while Robert was doing well, they couldn't yet afford more than a maid coming in once a week.

Mona ended up resorting to magic, and even that didn't go well at first, since she was rusty at even domestic spells. (Granny had always wanted them to do things the Muggle way, but sometimes Mona would "cheat." And anyway, that was years ago.) Robert was patient, if amused, and seemed to take her being bad at being a housewife as to be expected for someone so young and inexperienced. When she improved, he saw that, too, as to be expected.

"I miss the burnt food sometimes," he teased.

Then one night he came home early to surprise her. He dropped the candy and flowers on the floor when he walked in on her waving her wand in the kitchen. She tearfully explained that she was a witch. She expected him to be disgusted or terrified, but she did not expect him to laugh and say, "I knew you were bewitching, but not how much." It turned out he'd noticed odd little things about her, the first Muggle in her life to see cracks in her facade. He was relieved to discover he wasn't going crazy. She loved him more than ever.

And now they were dancing to the radio, as midnight approached. She was in her fifth month and showing and glowing. They kissed as they danced, with a big kiss at midnight when the ball dropped not too far away in Times Square. She sometimes wished they could go out into the New York nightlife, but there would be time for that when their children (she still wanted at least five more) were grown, or they at least had servants to look after them. For now, she was very happy in this little apartment with Robert.

She did miss Babs and her brothers. She tried not to think of them all as at home at Pines Cottage for Christmas vacation. She'd been afraid to contact them because of her aunt, although Joan probably could track her down if she still really wanted to. Joan probably figured Mona was a lost cause and it was better to concentrate on the Ilvermorny student.

Mona had told Robert a little about her family but he respected that it was painful for her to discuss. Someday she'd tell him everything, maybe when this baby was older and curious about cousins and grandparents and all that. By the end of the '50s anyway.


	13. March 21, 1951

"The owl's here!" Rina yelled from upstairs as eagerly as she would've a year ago if it had arrived from a magical school for her.

Lina and Mina looked at each other. This was it. Their entire futures depended on this letter.

Then Rina ran downstairs, clutching the letter. "Can we open it?"

Lina shook her head. "We have to wait for Papa to get home from work."

Rina looked disappointed, but she didn't argue. The younger girls listened to their quiet, gentle sisters, not just Dina, more cooperatively than they ever listened to Gina, or Mina.

"He could've chosen Ina," Nina said softly.

"That's true," Mina said. She wasn't sure if that would be a good thing, for the Micellis or for the Romanos.

When the matchmaker said that Matteo Micelli of Cortona, in Tuscany, wanted a bride for his son, Matteo, Jr., who'd emigrated to America after the war, preferably a bride with a strong magical background, the Romanos knew that they were a good possibility. Nine girls of impeccable wizarding lineage, although obviously not all nine were suitable at this time. Nina at fifteen was too young, unless it was a long engagement, and anyway she was considering becoming a nun. The youngest three obviously were far too young. Dina at 30 might've been willing to remarry, but they knew that you couldn't ask a young bachelor to take on the responsibility of an almost-ten-year-old stepson. Plus, Dina was less fertile now, and "Matty" would want many children. Gina was a married mother, now pregnant with her second baby, so she was the most obviously off the list.

That left 24-year-old Ina, 21-year-old Lina, and nearly 18-year-old Mina. At first, Ina had refused to pose for the group portrait. "Send him one of my eight-by-ten glossies," she said, using some of the Hollywood jargon she'd picked up. But Papa had insisted. Ina was the blondest and the most beautiful of the sisters, but Mina had a hard time picturing her as a housewife in New York. Ina joked, "Hey, Kiddo, if I get bored I can always run away to Broadway."

It was a wizarding photograph, but Mina did her best to stay as still and serious as she could, while Ina had beamed and blown kisses like she was posing for paparazzi. Lina had smiled shyly, as she did with strangers, since it would be a stranger, the elder Signore Micelli, who would be looking at the photo. And now, as the Cortona postmark showed, he'd written back, to Papa rather than to the matchmaker.

It wasn't easy to wait for Papa, but Dina came into the parlor, saw the letter, still in Rina's grubby hand, and gave them all housework to distract them.

At last, their father came home and Rina ran up to him, waving the letter. "Papa! Papa! Look!"

He chuckled. "One would think you were the potential bride, il mio tresoro."

"I would never leave you and go all the way to America, Papa." Then she looked guiltily at Lina and Mina. She knew this wasn't something they'd chosen, like Gina six years ago. It was something that they'd agreed to.

"Well, let's see who is abandoning me," Papa joked, although Mina spotted a tear in his eye. He took the letter from Rina and opened it. He read it silently and then said, "I will miss you, cara mia." He was looking at Lina with more tears in his eyes.

...

It was the first day of Spring, a breezy, sunny day in Scotland. But Minerva was spending most of the Easter holidays in the library with Charity. They were in their fourth year and they had a long-standing, friendly competition over who got top marks. Sometimes they even talked about doing practice OWL exams, but they recognised that this would be premature, as OWLs weren't till next year. They didn't have all their classes together. In fact, Charity wasn't taking Arithmancy, and Minerva wasn't taking Muggle Studies, but they still quizzed each other from the books. Minerva joked that she could sit the Muggle Studies OWL next year, but Charity pointed out that Minerva had an unfair advantage, having grown up around Muggles.

"I told you they'd be here," Willie cried, bustling over and annoying the young but sour-faced librarian, who shushed her.

"Come on, you two, it's unhealthy to spend all day indoors," Poppy said in a less loud but still carrying voice.

"Is that your opinion as a future Healer?" Minerva asked dryly.

Charity shut her book, quietly. "We may as well go," she whispered. "You know how persistent Hufflepuffs can be."

All four girls giggled, which made Madam Pince shush like a breeze.

...

Mina didn't really know what to expect when she met her favorite sister in the graveyard just before midnight. Lina had cried that evening, but that could've been just that it had sunk in that she'd be leaving Italy, leaving her family, in a few months. Mina would've felt the same if it were her, although she probably would've looked forward to going to America more, since Lina was much less adventurous. And Lina had given up Luigi because of what she thought her family duties were.

"I can't go," Lina blurted out as soon as Mina arrived.

"To America? Why not?"

"I'm a Squib."

"Oh, Lina, that doesn't matter. 'Matty' will probably love you anyway."

Lina wrung her hands. "Why did his father pick me? I'm the plainest in the family."

"No, you're not. And I'm no raving beauty myself."

"What about Ina? She looks like a movie star."

"Maybe Signore Micelli doesn't want a movie star for a daughter-in-law. They don't make good housewives. And you're sweet and domestic and good with children."

"Well, thank you, but so are you. And you have genuine magical talent."

Mina shrugged. "It's not as if I've been trained for anything but household magic. And you know you don't need spells to cook or clean."

"But the Micellis want someone with a strong magical heritage."

"You have that. And it might just skip a generation. If 'Matty' has strong magical power, then Squibness will just be recessive." Lina had learned about genes and chromosomes in school, where she was in her final year.

Lina shook her head. "I'm sorry. I don't want to go. I'd rather stay here and help Dina raise the little ones."

"So you are going to be a spinster after all."

"Not necessarily. But I might marry late."

"Why didn't you tell Papa? I mean when the matchmaker first contacted him."

"I never thought Signore Micelli would choose me. And it wasn't until he did, and the reasons why, that I realized I can't go through with this."

Mina hesitated and then said, "Maybe I could go."

"What if Signore Micelli wants Ina as his second choice?"

"No, I mean I could go in your place. As you."

Lina stared at her. "We're not twins. You'd never get away with it."

"I can if we use Polyjuice Potion."

"Mina, that's crazy! You're not talking about the time Ina and Carla switched for a party when they were Nina's age. You're talking about a marriage, and not in town but across the ocean."

"I can take some of your hair with me. And leave you some of mine."

"And what about when the hair runs out? You could be married for fifty years!"

"You could mail it to me once a month, inside a letter."

"Every month for fifty years? And am I supposed to be pretending to be you for fifty years? I'm not the actress. Ina is."

"Hm, I need to contact Ina and find out how to brew the potion. I wonder how long it takes. The wedding won't be till June, so I think there's time."

"Mina, this is madness."

"Do you want to go to America?"

"Well, no."

"I do." Mina did. As much as she would miss her family, the idea of living in New York was very exciting. If it took an arranged marriage with a stranger and impersonation of her sister to do it, well, so be it.

"But you'd have to pretend to be me!"

Mina shrugged. "Only in appearance. 'Matty' won't know what my personality is like. And as for you trying to fool the family and everyone, well, maybe after I'm safely married in America, you can drop your side of the charade."

"Papa will be furious!"

"Tell Dina first. She can break it to him gently. And the main thing is that the Romano and Micelli lines will be crossed, like Papa and Signore Micelli want. Papa will forgive you, and me, in time."

"But I'm the one who'll be here to face him. You'll be safely in America."

"Well, if you have a better solution, let's hear it."

"I can't think as quickly as you can. But what will the neighbors say when 'Mina' disappears and 'Lina' reappears?"

"We can say that your American husband died in Korea. And 'Mina' found a different American husband."

Lina shook her head. "I don't like all this lying. Worse than lying, impersonation."

"It's not as if anyone is being harmed by this. It's better for everyone. You'll get to stay here as long as you want. And you could 'remarry,' as a childless widow, someday if you want. Meanwhile, you can look after Tina and the others."

"Couldn't we just tell Signore Micelli that you're taking my place? I mean as yourself."

"He's made his choice, and he's chosen 'Lina.' So I'll be Lina."

"For fifty years?"

"For seventy-five years if it takes that. I'll still be me. I'll just look like you."

"Poor you."

"Oh, Lina!" She gave her sister a hug and had to stop herself from yanking out Lina's hair.

...

"Hush, my angel," Mona murmured as she nursed her baby. She loved Angela more than she could've ever imagined. Her daughter was ten months old and so bright and curious, with deep brown eyes that seemed to understand everything. Mona sometimes talked baby-talk to her but sometimes talked to her like an adult. Some of that was loneliness though.

She missed her brothers and Babs even more now that she was a mother. Archie had come to see his niece last year before he shipped out to Korea. He said he'd finish college after he served his time. His share of their parents' legacy wasn't worth much financially, just some magic trinkets that Archie didn't know how to use. He'd passed them on to his siblings. He didn't say, "In case I don't come back," although Mona was thinking it.

Corny wanted to join up, too, although he was not yet 18. Mona hoped that this war, a "police action," wouldn't last as long as World War II had. But it was almost as old as Angela, and showed no signs of ending soon. Meanwhile, Babs was in her third year at Ilvermorny. She wrote to Mona occasionally, although Joan had forbidden direct communication with "that bimbo," as Jughead reported that their aunt referred to Mona. He was 22 and mostly out of Joan's power, but Babs was still very dependent. Mona knew that it was an act of courage for Babs to send owls to Mona, even if the envelopes had the name of Babs's best friend for the return address.

Mona sometimes saw her old friends when they'd come into the city, but she spent most of her time at home with the baby. And much as she loved Angela, there were times when she wished she'd gone to college instead, especially times when Angela was spitting up on her or filling up diapers faster than Mona could clean them.

"We'll get someone to help you as soon as I can afford it," Robert promised. He never offered to help with the baby. That would be unmanly, although Mona could remember Daddy helping with Babs years ago, and that was the '30s, not these modern times. Not that Robert was home very much anyway. He threw himself into business, working far more than nine to five. He promised it was just for now, so he could move up. "Once I'm boss, I'll hardly work at all," he joked.

They had a nicer apartment now than when they were newlyweds. He also promised a house someday. "Somewhere with fresh air and green lawns for Angela to run around on."

They used to talk about a flock of kids running around in the fresh air. But that was before her rough delivery. She'd thought that she could give birth easily, like Mama, like Granny. She was from tough Texan wizarding stock. But there were complications. And the doctor told Mona that it would kill her to have any more children. So, and it was one of the toughest decisions she ever made, she had her tubes tied. Now she'd never get pregnant again. She and Robert talked about maybe adopting someday, at least a brother for Angela, a son to carry on the Robinson name. But there was no hurry. Mona wasn't even twenty yet and she had her hands full with this one baby.

After she put Angela down for a nap, she started on dinner. It was easier with magic, but the tricky part was that sometimes she had to reheat it, if Robert was late.

Tonight though, he was right on time. She'd changed her outfit, something fitting for the first day of spring, and something that didn't suggest that she'd been looking after a baby all day. Robert brought her flowers and candy and it was just like they were dating again. Well, sort of.


	14. July 4, 1952

Mona was turning 21 and she would now come into her parents' legacy. But since Archie's inheritance was magical trinkets, Mona wasn't really in any hurry to have an owl bring details.

Mona's birthday party was a BBQ and a housewarming. Robert had bought them a lovely two-story home in Fairfield, Connecticut. They now had a live-in housekeeper and a part-time gardener. Mona busied herself by reading, both fiction and magic instruction manuals, and by playing with Angela, who was now an active toddler with thin brown hair, much like Corny at two. Mona did practice carefully with the trinkets that Jughead had passed on to her, but she felt like she'd need real training to use them properly, and she had no idea how she could get that under her present circumstances.

The guests at the party were a mix of new neighbors and clients of Robert's, and the clients' wives. Mona didn't feel like she had much in common with any of them, but she was good at socializing and being the life of any party. She was young and beautiful, polished but down-to-earth. She looked like the perfect wife.

She tried not to think of her birthday three years ago, when James had proposed to her. What if they had eloped? What if he hadn't taken her home that evening and she'd just run away with him? Would life on the road, following him from town to town, show to show, have become tedious, not glamorous? Would they have settled down, maybe in New York, close to Broadway and far from the apartments that Robert lived in? She hadn't loved James as much as she still loved Robert, but she had loved him. Would love have been enough?

And, although it wasn't something she'd dwelt on at 18, what if they had faced prejudice as a racially mixed couple? Even in the North, there were bigots, although they tended to be subtler than Southern bigots. Even at this party, she overheard things like, "Now I'm not prejudiced, but I think the colored people...."

No one knew that her marriage with Robert was mixed, too. Muggles for the most part didn't even know that they weren't the only kind of people in the world, while witches and wizards grew up knowing about this whole secret layer to reality. That was one thing she missed since eloping and no longer living around her kind. Robert knew her secret but he could never know what it was like to be magical. And now both her brothers were in Korea, so she didn't just miss them but she worried about them. She hoped Babs would write to her at the new address. Her kid sister was 15 now and Mona wished she were there to give advice in person.

She also hoped that Angela would turn out to be a witch, although so far there were no signs. Angela was a very bright, curious little thing but she didn't accidentally cast little spells like a typical magical toddler, like Mona remembered Corny and Babs doing. But it was early yet of course.

And then Mona noticed something odd about the kiddie pool. It was full of babies and toddlers splashing around, but there was a very distinct whirlpool in the center. Mona looked over at her daughter, impressed yet worried about this public manifestation of Angela's power. But Angela looked utterly amazed. Mona followed Angela's gaze towards a smaller girl with wispy red hair, who was giggling and waving her chubby little hands.

Then a woman with hair as red as the baby's, as red as Mona's, said, "All right, Elaine, that's enough time in the pool," and scooped the little girl out.

It was then that Mona realized that the children weren't unsupervised, or not exactly. Mona's maid and various nannies and governesses stood nearby, but they were frozen in place, and not just out of surprise.

"Petrificus Totalis," she murmured, thinking of Aunt Joan freezing James.

The other red-haired woman gave her a sharp glance. Then shifting her baby to one shoulder, she came closer and extended her other hand. "Hello, I don't believe we've met yet. I'm Marion O'Connor. You must be Mona Robinson. Welcome to the neighborhood!"

Mona shook Marion's hand. "Thank you." There was so much she wanted to ask, from what Marion was doing crashing the party to whether she was indeed an impressive witch. But this wasn't the time or place.

"We should have a play date for our daughters some time. I'm sure your Angela and my Elaine will hit it off. And you and I can chat. I can tell you all about the neighborhood, like where to shop."

"And the best gossip?"

Marion laughed and then her glance was conspiratorial. Mona was almost positive she'd met a fellow witch, and she wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

...

Mina almost didn't recognize her sister when Ina showed up on her doorstep in Brooklyn. The actress had a small role in a film being shot in New York, not Brooklyn of course, but a borough close enough that Ina could visit for the holiday. The part was that of a young Italian actress who dyes her hair blonde and tries to break into Broadway. But Ina had to dye her hair, which had turned ash blonde in her 20s, a platinum blonde, like Marilyn Monroe's. It made her looks even more striking.

"Don't I get a hug?" Ina said in English.

Mina nodded and hugged Ina. It was the first time she'd seen any of her family since she moved to America, although she'd called a couple times and exchanged letters, mostly with Lina. It was strange to think of her sisters, Papa, and Nonna getting older without her, and yet life going on much as it had.

"How are you, Lina?" Ina asked in Italian when they let go. She didn't even say the name with emphasis, as if it were genuinely this sister's name.

"Well. Do you want to see the baby?"

"Of course."

The baby came ten months after the wedding. And it was just over a year since Mina left Sicily, her trunk full of Lina's clothes. (Lina would alter Mina's to fit her. She enjoyed sewing and it was something to focus on, rather than the lying and impersonation.) Mina traveled steerage but she enjoyed the journey. She was used to sharing a room, and she followed Gina's long-distance advice to Lina to eat sparingly onboard to avoid seasickness. Plus, it was very exciting to go forward to a new, almost unknown life. She did worry sometimes that she wouldn't get along with "Matty," or he'd see through her disguise, or other complications would ensue. But she made up her mind that if he rejected her, she wouldn't go all the way back to Italy. She'd instead scrape money together and go to San Francisco, throwing herself on Gina's mercy. Maybe Mina could get a job in an Italian restaurant or something. Worst case scenario, she'd become a servant.

Meanwhile, she enjoyed looking out at the vast ocean, thinking of how as a child the Mediterranean had seemed to go on forever, but this was very different, with land no longer in sight.

When she arrived in New York, she looked up at the Statue of Liberty, a kind, giant, green lady welcoming her, just like in the movies. And then, after she made it through customs, explaining to the translator that she was there for an arranged marriage, he was there to greet her. Matteo Micelli, Jr. Matty.

"Lina?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Welcome to America. Benvenuto in America."

"Thank you," she said shakily in English.

He smiled and then took her trunk. She wondered what kind of car he drove. Americans had such fancy cars, including some Italian ones, like Ferraris. She was very surprised when she saw that he drove a garbage truck. She and Lina had assumed that the "sanitary engineer" of his father's letters meant he did something with medicine. An orderly at least, if not a doctor. It turned out he was a netturbino, a "trashman."

She didn't mind, once she got over the surprise. Matty was hard-working and he could support her. And he bathed regularly, so it wasn't as if he smelled of garbage.

It had been more of an adjustment when he revealed that he was a Squib. The irony of course struck her, that Lina had worried she wasn't magical enough for him. Still, from a genetic point of view, Mina as bride was a better match, because two Squibs probably would've just had Squib children. (There was a slight chance for magical babies of course, just like there was when Muggles married.) With one magical parent, whether father or mother, it was more like Half-Blood children, who had a good chance of being magical. Mina knew she would love her children even if they were Squibs, since after all Lina was a Squib and her favorite sister. And, while it would've been fun to do magic with her husband, at least it wasn't like marrying a Muggle, where she'd have to hide her true self from him and his family. Matty knew she was a witch and he was proud of her for that.

Still, he didn't know she was really 19-year-old Mina, not 22-year-old Lina. In a way, it didn't matter. They'd started as strangers anyhow. And she was acting like her self, not like Lina. She'd even grown used to being called by her sister's name, not just by her husband, but by everyone on Pitkin Avenue, the crowded, noisy street in Brooklyn where Matty rented a one-room apartment.

But she did feel funny lying about something so basic as her age and name to the man she was committed to spending her whole life with. And she had grown fond of Matty this past year. He was strong but gentle, funny and yet serious at times, quick-tempered but quick to forgive. Bearing his son had brought them even closer together. But there would always be this secret between them.

"He looks like Papa," Ina said as she gazed down at the cradle.

Mina nodded. "I'm glad we named him after Papa." Her father wasn't happy about the impersonation, but he hadn't broken off communication, and Lina said he'd "mostly forgiven them."

"But Morton?" Ina laughed. "Who do you know named Morton?"

Mina laughed, too. "I kept craving salt when I was pregnant."

Both sisters laughed a lot. And then Ina asked, "May I hold him?"

Mina was a little surprised. Ina never really liked babies. She always said she could hardly stand her sisters until they were out of diapers and able to speak in complete sentences. But Mina nodded of course.

Ina lifted little Tony up and held him tenderly. "He's beautiful, Mina," she said softly, and then more like herself, "that is if anyone who looks like Papa could be beautiful."

"Do you ever think of having a baby?"

"What? And give up my glamorous career?"

Mina wasn't sure how much Ina was joking.

Then a voice called from the living room. "Sweetheart, is your sister here yet? The block party will be starting in half an hour."

"We're in the bedroom, Darling!" Mina called back.

Ina looked amused to hear her kid sister, who'd never had a real boyfriend, exchanging endearments with a man, but she was polite and unmocking when Matty came in and Mina introduced them. Ina again called her "Lina" as if she'd been doing it all their lives.

Matty was kind to Ina but he didn't act like most men did, stunned by her good looks. Phil Banta, on the other hand, couldn't take his eyes off her at the block party. Filippo was a second cousin of Matty's who'd also moved from the Old Country to Brooklyn, although a different neighborhood. He said the block parties on Pitkin Avenue were better. He and Ina danced together a lot. Mina was surprised. Ina was used to suave actors and directors, and Phil was just an ordinary guy, sort of like Matty but not as bright, although sweeter and shyer.

"Don't break his heart," Mina warned her sister. She didn't know Phil very well, but she didn't want to see him hurt, especially since that would make Matty unhappy.

Ina shook her head. "We were just dancing."

...

Minerva knew it was too soon to get the owl about her OWLs, but every day she kept hoping she'd hear something. She wasn't too worried. It wasn't like with Augusta, whom Minerva found crying in the loo over completely blanking out on her Charm OWL. Minerva had to shoo out one of the more annoying Hogwarts ghosts, who was mocking Augusta. Myrtle Warren had died mysteriously eight years before. In fact, her death was linked to Hagrid's expulsion, because his pet spider was blamed for the murder, although nothing had been proven and even Myrtle wasn't clear on the details of her death. Anyway, she haunted one of the girls' bathrooms on the ground floor of Hogwarts Castle, the loo where she died.

Willie, who was sure of Hagrid's innocence, had said once, "I wouldn't want to spend eternity hanging about the scene of my death, especially if it was a toilet!"

Charity, who was more soft-hearted, said, "Poor thing, to be fourteen forever." That had been a very awkward age for them, fourteen, and they were all glad to be fifteen now.

Poppy briskly said, "That's no excuse for her behaviour. Yes, it's dreadful that she was killed 'in the flower of her youth.' " The four of them giggled a little at that, since it was the phrasing of Professor Binns, himself a ghost and an elderly one at that, so he was like an early-Victorian. "But she needn't be obnoxious in the afterlife. I mean, I don't mind a bit of crying, but making a whole drama out of it is pathetic."

"That's why I never use that loo," Minerva had said. But sometimes it was unavoidable. And this time she found Augusta crying instead of Moaning Myrtle, while the pubescent ghost mocked the Fawcett girl. She shooed Myrtle away and tried to comfort Augusta, although Minerva wasn't very good at comforting people, and she wasn't exactly friends with her fellow Gryffindors.

She now hoped that Augusta had squeaked by with an A (Acceptable) in Charms, although Augusta had cried a month ago like she expected a T (for Troll). Minerva expected an E (Exceeds Expectations) for herself, good enough to continue on to NEWT-level but not a near-perfect O (Outstanding). The O she most longed for was in Transfiguration of course, still her favorite class, because of the subject and the teacher. Transfiguration was in her eyes the ultimate magic, transforming, changing. Her father once observed that this was like God and it's all around us. Not that he was saying that she was playing god, but he saw it as what God does, but on a much smaller scale. She wasn't sure if he said it in awe or disapproval, or maybe both. Her brothers were mostly amused by her skill, asking her to transform things around the house, although she was still underage and they knew she could get in trouble with the Ministry if she did any magic at home. Malcolm had finished his third year, Robby his first, so they weren't as far along in the subject as she was, and their talents lay elsewhere anyway. (Quidditch and History of Magic respectively.)

Professor Dumbledore was droll and humble about his own talents, not limited to Transfiguration of course. He made magic seem sensible and accessible, and yet still wondrous. He didn't have favourite students, like Professor Slughorn (Potions) did, including that awful flatterer Dolores Umbridge. Dumbledore was kind and patient with all his students. But sometimes he would give Minerva an extra encouraging smile, and he did ask, before she took her OWL exam, "Are you hoping to do NEWT Transfiguration, Miss McGonagall?"

"Yes, Sir. I'd like to."

"Good. I'll need to retire someday."

She knew he was just teasing. She could never fill his pointed shoes. However, he was about seventy, although still spry, and she supposed when he was one hundred, he might step aside. She would be middle-aged then and she might want to teach, since she enjoyed helping her friends with their studies. But there was a lot she wanted to do with the next thirty years, including travel. If she ever did replace Dumbledore, she would have to become a much more proficient witch than she was.

Meanwhile, it was another quiet summer at home, waiting and reading about but not practicing magic. And wondering what her future would be in two years, when her time at Hogwarts would be through.


End file.
